Might as Well
by D.L. SchizoAuthoress
Summary: First MD fic. (17/17) COMPLETE. The weird and wonderful second semester of freshman year is coming to a close with Dean's birthday. Fulton recieves some Very Bad News.
1. Lounge Act

A/N: Listening to Nirvana's "Nevermind" while I was in the shower, and thinking about my planned Mighty Ducks fanfic, "Unforgiven" when "Lounge Act" came on. I stopped in my poor karaoke-style rendition of the song and said to myself, 'Oh, my god, this is a Fulton song! How could I have missed it before?!' And that, if anyone cared, is the backstory about how "Might as Well" came to be.  
  
****  
  
"Might As Well" (a mighty ducks fanfiction by SchizoAuthoress)  
  
["Truth covered in security/ I can't let you smother me/ I'd like to but it wouldn't work/ Trading off and taking turns/ I don't regret a thing/  
  
I've got this friend, you see/ Who makes me feel/ And I wanted more/ Than I could steal/ I'll arrest myself/ And wear a shield/ I'll go out of my way/ To make you a deal/  
  
We've make a pact/ To learn from who/ Ever we want/ Without new rules/ We'll share what's lost and what we grew/ They'll go out of their way/ To prove they still/ Smell her on you."  
  
--from "Lounge Act" by Nirvana]  
  
Fulton Reed was lying on his mattress, holding the cordless phone in one hand. His bedroom was dark, in both lighting and decor. Posters--some still with a new sheen to them and curling rebelliously from their positions on the wall; others flat and ragged from being tacked onto many walls--depicting various heavy metal, hard rock, and punk bands adorned the painted-black walls. A cracked plastic hamper overflowed with wrinkled clothes, and a black trash bag beside it held articles of clothing deemed too stained or smelly to wear until thrown into the wash. Sports equipment was perhaps the only thing piled neatly, next to the window. Otherwise, the floor was so littered with junk that the true color of the carpeting was a mystery, even to Fulton, who decided to forget such a useless detail as that. The only lights in the room were a burned-out combination fan and ceiling light, and a small gooseneck desk lamp, currently turned on and illuminating an expensive-looking folder.   
  
Fulton turned his head and stared at the folder on his desk. It didn't belong there, just like Fulton wouldn't belong at Eden Hall Academy. His family was blue-collar, on welfare. How could rich kids that had never wanted for anything in their lives possibly understand and accept a guy like him?   
  
Sitting up, Fulton felt around on the plastic crate next to his bed that served as a bedside table. Finding what he was looking for, Fulton got up and went to the desk, sitting in his metal folding-chair and closely studying the small plastic card.   
  
~~Flashback~~ "Here," Portman said softly, pressing the card to Fulton's palm, "it's a pre-paid calling card. Using it is like making a collect call. You know how to do that?"  
  
"Yeah," Fulton mumbled, keeping his eyes downcast. He hated good-byes. They always seemed so...final.   
  
Portman slipped one hand beneath Fulton's chin, gently tilting the boy's face up so that they looked at each other. Forcing a smile, Portman managed to ask, "You /will/ call me, won't you?"  
  
"Of course." Fulton answered simply, unable to say any more because of the tears that rose suddenly in his eyes.   
  
Portman pressed Fulton to his body in a fierce hug, forceful enough to probably crush someone smaller than a Bash Brother. "I'm gonna miss ya, bro," he choked out. Fulton hid his face against Portman's shoulder and whispered,   
  
"Not as much as I'll miss you, Dean." ~~End Flashback~~  
  
When they rejoined the others, Fulton had noticed that the calling card only had two hundred minutes on it. So he only used it twice, each for a call on Dean's birthday, and saved the other fifty minutes for an emergency.   
  
And if this--being bullied into going to a prep school on a hockey scholarship--wasn't an emergency, what was?  
  
****  
  
Dean Portman flung open the door to his family's apartment and yelled, "Hey, Ma! I'm home!"  
  
"Dean, honey, come here," his mother called. Dean dropped his bookbag next to the black leather couch and headed for the kitchen.   
  
"What's up?" He asked, swiping an apple from the basket of fruit sitting on the round white-oak table. His mother beamed at him and waved some leather-bound booklet in his face.   
  
"Look! A scholarship from Eden Hall! They want you to play hockey for them, and you'll be getting a quality education, better than in public school, honey."  
  
Dean groaned and flopped into the nearest chair. "Mo-om! A private school? Are you kidding?"  
  
"What's so bad about a private school?" Mrs. Portman demanded, arms akimbo. She looked annoyed, blowing a few loose strands of wavy, caramel-brown hair out of her eyes. Dean muttered,  
  
"You wouldn't understand," and took a bite of his apple. "They're all really rich kids at that school, I'll bet. I wouldn't fit in." But curiousity got the better of him, and he asked, "Where /is/ Eden Hall, anyway?"  
  
Mrs. Portman grumbled, "Why do you care? You don't want to go."  
  
Before Dean could respond, a shrill ring from the telephone cut him off. Mrs. Portman set the scholarship folder on the table and whirled around to pick up the phone.   
  
"Hello?" There was a pause, and she said, "Yes....Hello, Fulton. Did you want to speak to Dean? ...Hold on," Mrs. Portman passed the phone to Dean.   
  
"Hey! Fulton, how ya doin', bro?" Dean exclaimed. Getting up from the table, he went back to the living room and flopped down on the couch.   
  
"Hi, Dean. I'm all right, what about you?" Fulton asked. Dean could hear the smile in Fulton's voice, and he was relieved. Dean knew that Fulton was prone to cover up his problems, but also that Fulton could never fake being happy if he wasn't.   
  
"I /was/ having a pretty good day until Mom told me about this scholarship offer...it's for some bogus preppy school. They want me to play hockey there; guess it's because of the Junior Goodwill Games. Anyway, I told Mom that I wouldn't fit in, and she's pissed, could you tell?"  
  
There was a pause. "So you're not gonna go?"  
  
"Hell, no! Fulton, you know me. I'd be fucking miserable there!" Rolling over on his stomach, Dean asked, "What's up? You sound disappointed."  
  
"Well, don't you want to get a good education?"  
  
Dean laughed, "Fult, you sound like my mom! And anyway, I'm dumb as a rock. Private school kids, ya know, they're not only rich, some of 'em are real smart, too."  
  
"Don't say stuff like that," Fulton protested, "You're not dumb. You're very intelligent, just too much of a macho ass to show it."  
  
"Sure, sure..." Dean scoffed, "You're just trying to flatter me."  
  
"If I was trying to flatter you, I'd compliment your muscles or your looks, since that's all you think you've got going for you." Fulton chuckled, and finished, "Not that you don't, Dean."  
  
"Aww, thank you."  
  
****  
  
They talked until Fulton's phone card nearly ran out, and then they reluctantly hung up. Fulton tossed the reciever onto the bed and smacked his head into the top of the desk. "That was helpful..." Fulton mumbled aloud to himself sarcastically.   
  
Obviously, Dean was going to waste his opportunity to go to a private school in Illinois. Maybe he should call the other Ducks and see if they too had gotten hockey scholarships. Charlie, Banks, Goldberg, Averman, Connie, and Guy would all probably be offered the chance to go to Eden Hall, too. If they were going, he might as well.   
  
Being with his old teammates would make the year bearable, but without his best friend... Fulton sighed.   
  
Sometimes, he wished that he hadn't accepted the offer to go to the Goodwill Games. For years before that competition, Fulton had kept himself apart from people, caring about and protecting those who needed him--or more accurately, his strength and willingness to fight--but never really becoming attatched to anyone.   
  
With Dean, it had been different. When they met, Dean Portman immediately resulted in the strongest emotional reaction Fulton had felt in a long time. Granted, it was one of anger and disgust at first. But their friendship developed quickly into an intense camaraderie, with Dean teaching Fulton the finer points of being an enforcer, with Fulton tutoring Dean in the higher maths, and of course, with the Bash Brothers on Team USA.  
  
And now...  
  
Well, now Fulton was lonely.   
  
He sighed again and retrieved the phone. Time to call Spazway.  
  
~~The End?~~  
  
A/N: I've already got lycanthrope happy and apparently high off of this fic...she demands more to this. So what do the rest of you think? And should this be kpet platonic, or develop into some Bash-slash later? [I guess I'm not as terrible at this as I thought...well, it is fic #41 that I've posted.] 


	2. I'd Do Anything

Edit: Some grammatical errors have been fixed.  
  
A/N: Time for some Portman-centricness, since the last chapter was mostly Fulton feeling sorry for himself. Ends with a filler scene for when Bombay contacts Portman about the scholarship. (Oh, and is not this Simple Plan song the perfect P/F theme?  
  
****  
  
"Might as Well, Part Two" (a mighty ducks fanfiction by SchizoAuthoress)  
  
["I'd do anything/ Just to hold you in my arms/ To try to make you laugh/ Cause somehow I can't/ Put you in the past/ I'd do anything/ Just to fall asleep with you/ Will you remember me/ Cause I know I won't forget you/  
  
Together we broke all the rules/ Dreamin' of droppin' out of school/ And leave this place/ And never come back/  
  
So now, maybe after all these years/ If you miss me, have no fear/ I'll be here/ I'll be waitin'/  
  
This could be the one last chance/ To make you understand/ And I just can't let you/ Leave me once again, yeah." --from "I'd Do Anything" by Simple Plan]  
  
If Dean could have kicked the shit out of himself for being such a moron, he would have. As it was, he tormented himself by rereading every single one of Fulton's letters every day before he left for school. The whole lot of them were stuffed into the small cabinet built into Dean's large particle-board computer desk, and each one was neatly, carefully flattened of creases and stacked in order with the most recent one on the bottom.   
  
The Portman family lived in a large, upscale Chicago apartment now, but this was only a recent development, much in the same way that Dean's new laptop and computer desk were additions to his room. For one thing, the bed was still without a box spring or a bed frame, because Dean stubbornly maintained that such things were useless and took up too much space. While his father refused to let him paint the walls a different color than the off-white they came as, it was hard to find a free, unadorned space on them. If hockey and wrestling posters weren't taking up the space, then it was deathmetal and punk rock posters. A few treasured photographs were thumbtacked to a corkboard above the bed, which was in the corner by the window. Dean had ripped up the carpet himself, pulled out the padding and nails, and put down some black-and-red checkerboard linoleum. ('It's easier to clean up spilled food on this,' he protested when his father yelled at him for it.)  
  
The room was relatively clean and well-lit; this was because Mrs. Portman insisted on lots of lighting--so that Dean never needed glasses because of eye-strain--and because she would have gone in and cleaned his room if he didn't. Dean hated the thought that other people were in his room when he wasn't.  
  
****  
  
"Dear Dean," the first letter read in clear, flowing print, "Eden Hall sucks. The place is full of snobs and jerks, especially the new coach, Coach Orion. I guess you're lucky that you decided not to come.   
  
"But I still miss you. Maybe you could come out to visit sometime soon? That would be great. So...I guess I'll talk to you whenever. You can write me back, because I don't have a phone to hook up in the dorm.  
  
"Yours, Fulton"   
  
****  
  
Once he got the letter, Dean begged his mother to give him the scholarship so that he could transfer to Eden Hall, but his father intervened. It was after dinner; Mrs. Portman was doing the dishes and Mr. Portman was calmly reading the paper, waiting for "Sixty Minutes" to come on.  
  
"You had the opportunity to go to this school, but you didn't take it. I called Dean Buckley, and he told me that if you don't attend Eden Hall this year, you can enter next year; the scholarship will still be good." Mr. Portman said, neatly folding the Business section of his newspaper.   
  
Dean stared at him in disbelief. He protested, "The scholarship is good /now./ Why can't I go?"  
  
Mr. Portman shook his head. "You have to learn a lesson, Dean. You missed your opportunity this year. I had to explain matters to Dr. Buckley. He made an exception in your case, but that doesn't always happen."  
  
Dean crossed his arms sulkily, feeling somewhat childish, but not caring. "Dad, please! Almost all my friends from the Goodwill Games are there, and they need me on the JV team."  
  
Mr. Portman shook his head. "No, Dean. Next year."  
  
"Fine! Whatever! I knew you wouldn't understand!" Dean yelled, turning around and storming out of the living room.   
  
Mrs. Portman came in from the kitchen, soapsuds up to her elbows and a drippy sponge in one hand. "What's going on?"  
  
"Dean is having a teenage tantrum," Mr. Portman informed his wife with a superior sort of smile. Dean shouted,   
  
"Like hell! /He's/ not letting me go to Eden Hall like /you/ wanted!" and slammed his bedroom door with enough force to shake the picture frames hanging in the hall.   
  
****  
  
The letters seesawed in tone from disparaging to playful to depressed, and Dean replied supportively, trying to keep Fulton's spirits up. But then came the letter that made him entertain homocidal thoughts and very violent murder fantasies.  
  
"Dear Dean," this one read, in a considerably shakier script, "Coach Orion is making this place hell, or at least more of a hell than it is all on its own. Not even hockey is fun anymore, and that's the only thing keeping me here. I told you about the JV-Varsity prank war in my last letter. We were challenged to a hockey match 'at dawn,' if you can beieve that stupid cliche."  
  
"Not only did the Varsity goons cheat and try to annihilate the smaller players (I tried to keep them safe, but I'm only one person!) but Orion showed up and chewed us all out. He acted like we were morons for accepting that challenge...and even though I thought it wasn't very smart myself, his behavior was uncalled for.  
  
And Dean, he said that the Ducks were dead. Next to you, the Ducks are the most important thing in my life. They treated me like normal when everyone was scared of me, and joining up with District Five led to me meeting you. You are my best friend. I don't want to think what would have happened if we hadn't met. I'd probably be majorly depressed, an alcoholic like my dad, or worse. Shit. I can't even think about it without almost crying. (If you ever tell anyone that, I'll kick your ass, Dean Aaron Portman.)"  
  
****  
  
There were more arguments and even a couple of actual fights between Dean and his father. Dean closed himself off, becoming harsh and unpleasant. His schoolwork was neglected, causing his C average to slip toward D minuses. This caused even more conflict, and Dean's prospects of /ever/ accepting the scholarship looked bleak.  
  
It was lucky that Gordon Bombay had been a lawyer earlier in his adult life, because it took all his skill and persuasive powers to dissuade Mr. Portman from his hardline stance. When Dean came home and was told that he would indeed be going back to Minnesota with Gordon, well, his response was enthusiastic, to say the least.  
  
****  
  
"Portman, calm down," Gordon said for the millionth time.   
  
Dean glanced at his old coach, muttered, "Sorry," and went right back to jiggling his leg like he had a nervous twitch in it. Gordon rolled his eyes helplessly and picked up the John Grisham book he'd bought in the gift shop.   
  
They were sitting in the waiting area at gate A12 for the flight to Minneapolis, which was delayed because of mechanical problems. Actually, Gordon was sitting. Dean was leaning against the window, staring out at the plane and playing with his carry-on bag, which held his hockey gear.   
  
"Coach," Dean spoke up suddenly, "Do you think that the Ducks will be mad at me?"  
  
Gordon sighed and slid a bookmark into his paperback. Only an hour ago, Dean had been babbling about how happy he was to be going to Eden Hall. But apparently, he was having second thoughts concerning how happy his former teammates would be to see him. "Why would they be mad at you, Portman?" Gordon countered.   
  
Dean shrugged. "Dude, I dunno. Maybe 'cause they think I bailed on 'em, not coming earlier. Maybe they think I'm just coming back for some glory."  
  
"Are you?"  
  
"Hell, no!" Dean exclaimed, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "Man, I'm so stupid. I should have /asked/ Fulton whether he got a scholarship to Eden Hall, too, when he called me."  
  
Gordon smiled. "I'm sure Fulton forgave you already. He's not exactly the type to hold a grudge against his friends."  
  
"Guess not," Dean replied softly, and fell silent. But he was still worried.  
  
~~To Be Continued...~~  
  
A/N: Sorry, kids, I have to rent D3 before I continue this...I would have done it today, but the damn Blockbuster that we went to only had the first Mighty Ducks movie (of course I rented it, what do you take me for?!). So it may be a few days before I can get this little bastard rolling again. 


	3. Bohemian Rhapsody

A/N: Okay, sorry about the wait, you guys...and apologies to lycanthrope in particular. (I love it, my own personal non-cheerleadery cheerleader. Katie, you're an inspiration.) Just one thing...I'm not entirely sure what Portman says when he finally shows up in D3 because I'm too damn lazy and impatient to wait until we go back to rent more videos. And it's been about half a month since they showed D3 on Disney, and I can't remember what I did yesterday, so...  
  
I'm babbling. I'll shut up and get on with the fic again.  
  
Disclaimer: I stole the wording for the scholarship from "D2point5: The Mighty Ducks" by ballisticbubble. Shoot me now. I also stole the Mighty Ducks from the Disney character vaults and burdened them with humanity...I think they're broken now. ::looks mock-repentant:: How will I ever /live/ with myself after doing such a terrible thing??  
  
****  
  
"Might as Well, Part Three" (a mighty ducks fanfiction by SchizoAuthoress)  
  
["Is this the real life/ Is this just fantasy/ Caught in a landslide/ No escape from reality/ Open your eyes/ Look up to the skies and see/ I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy/ Because I'm easy come, easy go/ A little high, little low/ Anyway the wind blows, doesn't really matter to me/ To me." --from "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen]  
  
Three fifteen a.m. glowed in angry red on the alarm clock. Fulton had been staring at this number so intently that he was surprised when it changed to three sixteen a.m. It had become something of a ritual for him. Despite the fact that he had been playing hockey for four years, at one time against some of the best international players, Fulton was plagued by doubts before every big game. Nightmares about forgetting how to skate or ricocheting killer-slapshots blighted his sleep, and not even Queen could calm him down.   
  
At least there was no one else in the dorm room to question the fact that Fulton was still awake. After chasing off three roommates--the first had been too scared to room with him, the second couldn't deal with his music, and the third had fallen ill with mono and gone home--Fulton had the place all to himself. He was free to sit on his bed in pitch-blackness and contemplate the worthlessness of his life. And he certainly did.   
  
****  
  
The whole team was despondent. Varsity was dominating the game, and while the JV Ducks still had a chance to make a comeback, their morale was so low that it looked unlikely to happen. Not for the first time, Fulton closed his eyes and wished that Dean, or Jesse, or even Tammy Duncan would come walking into the locker room and say that they reconsidered coming to Eden Hall.  
  
Suddenly, the door was flung open, and a familiar voice recited, "Eden Hall Academy is honored to award this recipient, Dean Portman, a full athletic scholarship to the school for his excellence in the field of ice hockey."  
  
'Okay, now I'm hallucinating.' Fulton thought, 'Perfect.'  
  
"I had this lying around the house back home, my lawyer thought I should sign it, I agreed! It's official, boys, I'm /back/!"  
  
'Enough of the wishful thinking already,' Fulton scolded himself, and opened his eyes. He jumped to his feet, completely shocked by what, or rather, who he saw.   
  
****  
  
Dean breathed deeply, striving to calm himself down before marching into the JV locker room. 'This is completely crazy,' he argued with himself, 'They won't hate you, stupid. Not if they really believe that Ducks fly together.'  
  
"Are you going in or not?" Gordon asked. Dean shot him a glare and hissed,   
  
"Yeah, I'm going in. Gimme a sec, dude."  
  
Gordon shrugged, pulling his trenchcoat closer. "All right, if you say so. I can have you back to O'Hare in a few hours if you've changed your mind."  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and flipped open the scholarship folder. "Fulton was right. Sometimes, you really are a moron, Coach," he snapped, and pushed open the door.   
  
He hardly knew what he was saying, because he was looking for his best friend. When Fulton got to his feet and clasped his hand, Dean was relieved to see the joy in Fulton's eyes. He knew then that things would be all right.  
  
****  
  
It was eleven thirty-five p.m. when the Bash Brothers finally staggered back to Fulton's dorm room. Unlocking the door, Fulton pushed it open and groped for the lightswitch next to the doorframe. Behind him, Portman yawned and inquired sleepily,   
  
"So, does Coach Orion take us out for pizza and a late-night movie every time we win, or is this some freakish occurance?"  
  
"Freakish occurance," Fulton replied, pushing aside a large cardboard box held shut with duct tape and marked 'Dean Portman' with the Eden Hall address below it. The teacher in charge of the dorm had had Dean's things brought up during the game and after-victory celebration.   
  
"So, what didja think of the movie?"   
  
Fulton shrugged. "Meh." He pointed to the bed next to the window, "That's yours. I'm gonna go brush my teeth."  
  
Dean finished pulling his shirt off over his head and began digging through his suitcase for the ratty Metallica tee he usually slept in. With a grin, he asked, "What's 'Meh.'?"  
  
"A noncommittal sound of acknowledgement, to let you know that I heard your question but the answer is long and involved and it will have to wait until I get back." Fulton shot back over his shoulder as he went into the hall, tube of Aquafresh and blue toothbrush in hand. Dean shook his head, biting back laughter as he finished changing for bed.   
  
"I liked 'Meh' better."  
  
A few minutes later, Fulton padded back into the room and remarked, "Brandon Lee's acting could kick the shit out of Vincent Perez's...the sequel was just a cheap repackaging of the plot from 'The Crow,' too."  
  
Dean looked up briefly from Fulton's stereo, which he was fiddling with to optimize the listening experience of 'Pyromania.' Hiding a smile, he asked, "You sure you didn't just like 'The Crow' better because we saw the movie by ourselves together?" A pillow suddenly sideswiped his head. "Oh, no you didn't!" Dean cried, snatching up his own pillow and taking a swat at Fulton.   
  
Fulton avoided the hit, but his foot came down on a copy of 'Hamlet,' cauing him to slip and fall on his butt. Dean doubled over with laughter at the expression of mingled confusion and embarrassment on Fulton's face.   
  
"Very funny!" Fulton yelled, once he'd recovered, and tackled Dean's legs.   
  
They tumbled to the floor, and--after a brief struggle--Fulton managed to pin Dean by the shoulders. He beamed triumphantly at his best friend and asked in his best mock-innocent tone of voice, "Give?"  
  
"NEVER!" Dean shouted, tickling Fulton's ribs. With a shriek that was half-laughter, half-outrage, Fulton rolled off of Dean and retaliated by giving him a noogie.  
  
"You'll never win, Portman!"  
  
"Fine, fine! Get off the hair, Reed!"  
  
Fulton chuckled and relented, teasing, "Dude, you're as bad as Mendoza." Dean shot him a look of wounded dignity, causing a fresh spate of smothered snickers from Fulton. A small smile flickered over Dean's face.   
  
"I am not /that/ obsessive over my hair."  
  
"Says the guy who spent an average of one-and-a-half hours in the bathroom doing his hair during the Goodwill Games." Fulton broke in. Suddenly, they both started to laugh, collapsing against each other.   
  
When the semi-hysterical laughter subsided, Fulton sighed and rested his head on Dean's shoulder. "I'm glad you're here, Dean."  
  
"So'm I," Dean replied softly, enfolding Fulton in a gentle hug.  
  
~~To Be Continued...~~  
  
Edit: I got a quote of what Portman says upon his return from http://www.geocities.com/Hollywood/Lot/2658/duckmain.html. So it's pretty accurate now, I should think. 


	4. Black Hole Sun

Edit: Referring to Averman's schtick as a David Spade routine is an error on my part and has been fixed.  
  
A/N: First off, apologies for the long selection from my opening song. It's just that...goddamn, if you haven't heard "Black Hole Sun" before, go away! Yes, go away and find it so that you can listen! It's utterly beautiful and hypnotic, and I'm making it required listening, so there!   
  
This chapter sort of broadens out to include more of the other Ducks. Charlie, Adam, Julie, Connie and Guy are used a lot in fanfics with a Bash-centric theme, but I also wanted to have more involvement from the ones usually relegated to supporting roles. You know: Averman, Russ, Goldberg, and Luis. I hate Dwayne, just so you know. He hates me back, so it's all good.  
  
Okies, I've got two votes for Bash-slash, two non-committal reviews, and Katie, who will be happy no matter what I do with this story--save maybe me killing off one of the Ducks, or even worse, one of the 'Bashies'!   
  
Whoa, before I get a whole shitload of crying, screaming, 'how-dare-you' reviews, let me say that I am NOT planning to kill off anyone. In this fic. In another one, maybe. But definitely not for this one; "Might" is my fluffy, relatively angst-free MD fic. I try to get one of those in each of my big fandoms. (Harry Potter, Murder by Numbers, and The Mighty Ducks.)  
  
Again babble! ::screams at her hands:: Stop typing these moronic notes, you stupid hands, and get going with the story! Brain, are you listening to me, too?  
  
****  
  
"Might as Well, Part Four" (a mighty ducks fanfic by SchizoAuthoress)  
  
["Black hole sun/ Won't you come/ And wash away the rain/ Black hole sun/ Won't you come/ Won't you come/  
  
Stuttering/ Cold and damp/ Steal the warm wind/ Tired friend/ Times are gone/ For honest men/ And sometimes/ Far too long/ For snakes/  
  
In my shoes/ A walking sleep/ And my youth/ I pray to keep/  
  
Heaven send/ Hell away/ No one sings/ Like you/ Anymore/  
  
Hang my head/ Drown my fear/ Till you all just/ Disappear."  
  
--from "Black Hole Sun" by Soundgarden]  
  
A week later, the Ducks were out on the ice for an early-morning practice--this time to prepare for the game against the Hawks of Cooper High School, in Robbinsdale[1]--and the Catlady was being subjected to a drill of a firing-squad-like framework. A few shots by Banks and Germaine got by her, even one of Connie's and Charlie's, but it wasn't until a slapshot courtesy of Fulton nearly blasted out her knee that Coach Orion blew his whistle to end the drill.   
  
"Good work, Julie," he praised, but he wasn't even really looking at her.   
  
Julie panted something that sounded vaguely like, "Thanks, Coach," and dragged herself over to the bench to grab one of the water bottles. Goldberg bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing; it wasn't that he would be in any better condition after such a workout, it was just amusing to see the famous Catlady worked to a frazzle.  
  
Orion waited until Julie had rejoined the group before verbally passing out his critiques of their individual performances. Most of them got positive reviews, with a few pointers on what to improve about their shots. Dwayne was scolded for "playing with the puck" before taking his shots, all of which were blocked by Julie. None of Averman's pucks had even gotten close to the posts, and Orion strongly suggested that he get help, if not from the other Ducks, from Orion himself.   
  
"And Fulton," Coach said finally. He paused--ominously, Fulton felt--and cleared his throat. "I think we have a problem. Your slapshot has a lot of power, but no accuracy. Like with Averman, I suggest that you take cues from your teammates and learn to control your shots."  
  
"Coach!" Fulton protested, "I'm up to two out of five; isn't that /some/ improvement in accuracy?"  
  
"And three out of five would be even better. Work on it." Orion brought the whistle to his lips. "All right, team, sprints!" He ordered, and the whistle rang out shrilly.   
  
****  
  
"Want me to kill him for you, Fult?" Portman offered as the team staggered into the JV locker room an hour later. Fulton laughed half-heartedly.   
  
"Nah, you'd be too sloppy. All crimes of passion are."  
  
Russ piped up, "I could arrange it for you. A coupla boys from L.A., they're in, Orion's out, and they go back. No connections to you, man."  
  
"Shut up, Russ," Guy said, stripping the pads from his upper body. He grinned playfully, "Some of us here don't want to be accessories to a murder." Russ punched him on the shoulder, and Guy yelped in surprise.  
  
"Pansy," Russ teased.   
  
"Don't make me sic Connie on you!" Guy mock-threatened. Russ's eyes widened to comically large proportions, and the black teen pretended to swoon in terror.  
  
Fulton rolled his eyes at their antics and headed for the showers.  
  
****  
  
"Banksie, I love you!" Charlie exclaimed, although it sounded more like 'Bansy, ah wuff ooh,' through the blueberry muffin that the Ducks' captain had just crammed, whole, into his mouth. Adam smiled, a little uneasily, at Charlie's actions; he backed away just a little and set the tray of muffins on the lunch table. Adam had just finished his Food and Nutrition class, during which he had made enough of the sweet baked goods to assist in the feeding of his team. Either one of the Bash Brothers, Goldberg, or surprisingly, Kenny could have finished off the entire three dozen, so he was limiting everyone to one muffin before seconds.   
  
Averman sniffed his muffin cautiously. "This isn't a blueberry-walnut muffin, is it? I'm allergic to walnuts."  
  
"You are not," Connie snapped, munching on her peanut-butter-celery sticks. Averman made a face.  
  
"Okay, fine. I hate foreign objects in my food is all."[2]  
  
"Walnuts are food, not foreign objects, Les." Julie corrected, not looking up from her book, 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.'  
  
"They're plain blueberry," Adam cut in, before Averman began to rant.   
  
"No way, Jules! Walnuts are evil! It's like, you're enjoying a nice slice of banana bread...soft, warm...and suddenly 'crunch!', you bite into this hard thing in your food. No thanks." He shoved his glasses back up and took a big bite of his muffin. "Hey, this is pretty good, Banks," he commented.  
  
"You just don't like them because it reminds you of that time you found a cow-knuckle in your hot dog," Guy said with a snicker. Luis made a face. [3]  
  
"Gross, man, I'm /eating/ a hot dog here!"  
  
Connie smiled sweetly at Luis, "It's your own fault for not being vegan!"  
  
"'Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night...Rage, rage against the dying of the light. '" Fulton recited loudly, interrupting the conversation.   
  
Everyone looked at him. Fulton shrugged off the stares and said, "I'm tired of all the talk about food."  
  
Russ laughed, "Well, take your pick, Fulton. Food, hockey, girls."  
  
"None of the above?" Ken suggested, pulling apart his hamburger and removing the pickle slices. Fulton nodded,  
  
"I'll take that one."  
  
Charlie started to laugh. The problem with that was that he still had about a fourth of his muffin left to chew. He gagged and began to cough, turning faintly blue from lack of air. Guy, looking worried, pounded him on the back a couple of times.   
  
"Hey, Spazway, you're scarin' us. Breathe, man, breathe."  
  
"Keep coughing, Charlie." Dean instructed, getting to his feet. "Dude, don't stop trying to cough it up." Suddenly, Charlie's breathing hitched and stopped. Guy's eyes widened, and he bodily hauled Charlie into a standing position. Dean lunged for them, snarling, "Aw, fuck, man."  
  
Everyone at the table was on their feet. "Portman, you're gonna break his ribs!" Julie shrieked as Dean placed a fist over Charlie's navel, overlapping it with his left hand.   
  
"Jules.../shut up/!" Goldberg yelled at her.   
  
Dean drove his fist up and into Charlie's abdomen, toward the breastbone, lifting the smaller teen off the ground in his efforts to expel the offending piece of food. He repeated this motion twice more before a soggy thing roughly the size and shape of a golf ball flew out of Charlie's mouth to land with a squelching sound on the table.   
  
Charlie gasped and coughed, practically collapsing against Dean. The Bash Brother, for his part, was grinning like a loon at his successful Heimlich maneuver.  
  
The Ducks gave a cheer of pure relief, drawing even more stares. Guy was practically strangling Adam in the estatic hug he'd swept the pale blond into. Averman had regressed to his Rob Schneider routine, yelling,   
  
"Deanmeister! Saving the cap-tain! All right!"  
  
"Shut up, Averman," Charlie wheezed. Dean released him, and Charlie said gratefully, "You saved my life, Portman."  
  
"No problem," Portman mumbled, a little embarrassed. Fulton punched him on the arm and congratulated him softly,   
  
"Good work, bro."  
  
"Hey, Charlie," Dwayne spoke up, "you gonna finish that?"   
  
He looked very surprised when the rest of the team groaned, "Cowboy!" and started pelting him with their napkins.   
  
"What'd I say?" Dwayne asked, confused.  
  
Just a typical lunch period with the Eden Hall JV Ducks.  
  
~~Essere Continuato/To Be Continued...~~  
  
A/N: What can I say? I was getting bored of TBC. It's Italian this time.  
  
[1] This team actually exists. I couldn't resist using them...yanno, the old Ducks v. Hawks theme.  
  
[2] It's a pet peeve I stole from my stepfather.   
  
[3] This actually happened to me, once. Needless to say, I don't eat hot dogs anymore. 


	5. The Art of Losing

A/N: Much love to my reviewers; you guys make me feel special! A little slash-suggestive bit, let's see how well this goes over, ne? Since I have three out-and-out slash votes (and Katie... heehee ^_^), I'm pretty sure that this will garner a good response.  
  
****  
  
"Might as Well, Part Five"  
  
["Fit the mold and do what you're told/ Get a job and start growing old/ 9 to 5 can make your dreams come true/ But I don't wanna be like you/ I'm not cool and I'll never be/ I break the rules and I guarantee/ I don't want your sympathy/ I just need a little therapy/ At least that's what they say to me/   
  
Hey ho let's go/ I'm gonna start a riot/ You don't wanna fight it/ One two fuck you/ Don't tell me what to do/ I don't wanna be like you/ Can't you see it's killing me/ I'm my own worst enemy/ Knock me down I'll keep on moving/ It's the art of losing/   
  
You call me a loser/ Say I'm just a user/ But I'll just keep on moving/ Cause that's the art of losing."  
  
--from "The Art of Losing" by American Hi-Fi]  
  
Two days after scolding Fulton about his two of five goal to attempts ratio, Coach was waiting for Averman and the Bash Brothers as they left the Performing Arts Building. (Averman had put in a good word for Dean, who had expressed an interest in joining the Drill and Dance Team. [1]) He had his back to them, though, and Averman spotted the coach first.  
  
"Aw, crap," Averman groaned, taking cover behind the Bashes. "Looks like Orion's out for our blood again, Fulton."  
  
"Or at least our pain and suffering," Fulton deadpanned.  
  
Dean was reluctant to leave his best friend to the whims of Coach Orion, who was shaping up to be even worse than Coach Bombay in his 'Captain Blood' reign of terror. He'd been running Fulton and Averman ragged at the team practices in an attempt to improve their scoring abilities, and he'd arranged special lunchtime and after-school drills for them to do.   
  
"Run, Portman, bef--" Averman cut himself off as Orion turned around and saw them. "Oh, God, we made eye contact."  
  
Dean struggled to keep the grin off his face as he replied, "We are being pulled in by his tractor beam and we can't escape. [2]"  
  
"You can," Fulton corrected. "Don't you have some research to do on that cell-division report in science?"  
  
Dean took his advice and left.  
  
****  
  
Neither of the two were in the commons when Dean came back from the library. Fulton didn't come up to the room by nine o'clock, when Dean was yawning back tiredness born of boredom. Finally, by nine forty-five, Dean was too tired to care where Fulton was--he was probably passed out on the couch downstairs anyway--and fell asleep curled up under the blankets.  
  
****  
  
Dean awoke and came to the groggy realization that there was a large, heavy something lying on top of him. He blinked a couple of times, clearing the bleariness from his eyes, and realized that what was lying on top of him was actually a large, heavy /someone./ Fulton Reed, to be exact, sprawled half over his chest, half on the wrinkled mass of blankets that had twisted off of him.   
  
Giving Fulton's shoulder a gently insistent shake, Dean was awarded only with an unintelligible muttering and having Fulton snuggle closer to him. "Fulton!" He hissed sharply, lightly punching the other boy's arm.   
  
"Mmhmm?" Fulton lifted his head, blinking bemusedly. "Whassa matter?"  
  
"Bro, I think you're in the wrong bed," Dean replied, biting his tongue afterward to keep from laughing at the adorably confused look on Fulton's face as he processed this information. Fulton put his head back down and mumbled,   
  
"Too tired."  
  
"Do you even care that we're sharing a bed that will probably break under our combined weight?" Dean inquired dryly. He felt Fulton shaking his head, and the dark-eyed boy replied sleepily, his voice muffled by Dean's tee shirt,  
  
"Nnhh-hhm. You're warm."  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. There was no reasoning with a sleep-deprived Fulton Reed. It was almost as bad as when he was drunk. Fulton's body shifted against his own, fitting comfortably, and the mostly-asleep Bash Brother made an amusing sound of content and sighed deeply.   
  
Dean responded with a sigh of his own and wrestled a blanket out from beneath the two of them to cover Fulton with. "G'night, Fult," he whispered lovingly, putting an arm around Fulton's body and stroking his dark, silk-soft hair until they were both asleep and snoring.   
  
~~ætre continuŽ...~~  
  
A/N: French this time. I'd like to take this opportunity to clarify and remind everyone that Portman and Fulton were/are just best friends up to this point. Next chapter includes mortified Fulton and sexually-indecisive Dean. Funfun.  
  
Review, you lazy lurkers (not talking about you, Katie ::hugs::), or I'll sic Connie and Tammy das Wunderbitch on you. Connie bites (just ask Guy), but Tammy will probably bury an ice-skate in your forehead.  
  
[1] I couldn't resist! May dancing Portmans haunt your dreams!  
  
[2] "Wayne's World! Wayne's World! Party time, excellent!" I stole this gag from WeBuiltThisCityOnRockAndRoll. Sorry, hun. 


	6. Lake of Fire

A/N: Bwee! You guys rock my socks, I love you all. For all the Jesse-fans out there (I know you exist!), he makes a cameo in this chapter. I know, I love the Power of the Fanauthoress far too much.  
  
P.S. Katie, ya might want to take steps to improve your cardiac health, since you seem to be having violent, fanfic-induced heart attacks. ^_^ Only trying to watch out for my number one fan and my number one favorite MD authoress.  
  
****  
  
"Might as Well, Part Six"  
  
["Where do bad folks when they die?/ They don't go to heaven where the angels fly/ They go to a lake of fire and fry/ See'em again 'till the 4th of July/  
  
People cry and people moan/ They look for a dry place to call their home/ They try to find some place to rest their bones/ While the angels and devils try to make their own."  
  
--from "Lake of Fire" by The Meat Puppets, performed by Kurt Cobain on the 'Unplugged in New York' album]   
  
An annoyingly loud buzzing shook Dean from his slumber for the second time, he grumbled an obscenity and reached over to hit the off button, hearing a soft crunch as his fist came in contact with the plastic. 'There goes another alarm clock,' he thought with a faint snicker.   
  
Dean's eyes flew open as he heard a loud yawn, suddenly reminded of Fulton's presence in his bed. What he saw was Fulton was staring at him with wide eyes, his entire face flushed with mortification. Dean blinked. "Uh, good morning?"  
  
"What am I doing in your bed?" Fulton whispered softly, avoiding his friend's amused gaze.   
  
"I woke up last night and you were here. I /tried/ to see if you wanted to get into your own bed, but you were so sleepy, I didn't want to push the issue. Besides," Dean's eyes sparkled mischieviously, "You were warm."  
  
Fulton blushed even redder as he was reminded of the asinine things he'd said. "Um," he tried to get up and found that Dean had an arm wound around his waist, "Dean, um, can you let me go?"  
  
"Oh, sorry." He released Fulton and used that hand to prop himself up. Unfortunately, he accidentally put his hand on Fulton's thigh, causing the other boy to shy away abruptly and for them both to tumble off the bed in a flurry of blankets and bodies. "Shit," Dean muttered, "sorry again."  
  
Fulton looked petrified. He managed to stammer, "I...I...I'm so-sorry."  
  
"Nah, it's okay." Dean flashed his friend a gorgeous smile and rolled off of him, beginning to work on distangling himself from the blankets. Fulton sat up and prayed that his heart was not pounding as hard as he thought it was. Scooting backwards, he nearly fainted when Dean admitted, "It was kinda cute, actually."  
  
'Oh, God, does he know? Has he realized?' Fulton thought in a panic. Aloud, he asked, "Wha...what?"  
  
"You were all mussed up and kittenish, not like the big, tough bad-boy everybody likes to think you are." Dean laughed, "And now I have blackmail on you, bro."  
  
Inwardly, Fulton sighed with relief; his secret was still safe. His face arranged itself in a scowl as he glared up at his roommate and threatened, "I still have those pictures, you know."  
  
Dean grabbed his towel from the crumpled heap of old clothes on the floor. "You wouldn't!"  
  
"Don't be surprised if you see a twelve-by-eighteen glossy with the words 'Portman in Tights!' above it on the team bulletin board..." Fulton warned him, a teasing smile on his face as he hoisted himself onto his own bed.   
  
"You couldn't afford to get that photo blown up," Dean retorted, digging through a pile of junk for his bathroom supplies. "You're a poster-child for a welfare family, dude."  
  
Fulton ignored the dig, knowing that Dean wasn't trying to be mean. He folded his arms and smirked. "Adam still owes me a favor..."  
  
"Oh, fine. I'll be on my best behavior, then." Dean stood up, holding a shampoo bottle and bar of soap in a washcloth, the towel draped over one arm. He went out into the hall, turned around, and asked, "Hey, aren't you gonna take a shower?"  
  
"I'll do it after practice. The huge amounts of sweating I do in the mornings now kinda negates the usefulness of a shower before practice."  
  
"Dude, you're gonna reek by then."  
  
"I know." Fulton said simply. "So will Averman."  
  
****  
  
"Hey, Les," Fulton said as they entered History, "Wanna skip out on Orion's torture session today?"  
  
Averman practically glowed at the mere suggestion of it. "Fulton, anything's better than Hell-on-Ice-Skates. Any ideas where we should go?"  
  
"We could go hang with Jesse," Fulton suggested as they took their seats in the back. Averman considered this.   
  
"Haven't seen the Jess-man in ages. Sounds cool."  
  
"Just don't say anything to the others. We might get caught." Fulton cautioned. Averman nodded  
  
"Will the two chatterboxes in the back please pipe down so that I can begin the lesson?" Mr. Graves said loudly at the front of the room, effectively cutting off the discussion.   
  
****  
  
Averman ran after Fulton, Rollerblades slung over one shoulder and wallet dangling from a short silvery chain he held in his mouth. "Ful'on, wai' up!"  
  
Fulton, who was holding his own Rollerblades and both of their hockey sticks, glanced back once but didn't slow his pace until they had reached the gates. Averman couldn't stop in time and ended up crashing into Fulton's broad back. Fulton turned and gave the skinny, bespectacled teen a hand getting back up. "We're not in a rush," he informed Averman, smiling slightly.   
  
"We're not? So you want to take the chance that Blood-and-Guts Orion finds us skipping on him?"  
  
"Okay, we're in a rush," Fulton conceded, watching with amusement as Averman hurriedly dusted himself off and clipped one end of the chain to his belt loop. "What /is/ that?" He asked, handing Averman his stick.  
  
Averman took it. "A wallet chain."  
  
"A wallet chain?" Fulton repeated, raising an eyebrow at Averman. He pushed open the gate and they both went through. Averman gave an exaggerated sigh.   
  
"Okay, okay, it's actually the clip-part of a leash and a metal dog-collar, but it's the same thing!"   
  
Fulton smiled to himself but said nothing further. As they turned onto the street that the Hall family lived on, he asked, "Whatever happened to that bandanna you used to wear?" [1]  
  
"I still have it," Averman replied, and, true to his word, whipped said bandanna out of his left pocket. "But you and Portman kinda conquered the bandanna-wearing market on the Ducks. I figured that, since I'm definitely not an enforcer, I'm not gonna wear it anymore."   
  
"Sorry about that," Fulton said, surprised. Averman shrugged,   
  
"No problem. Hey, think I should give it to Kenny?"  
  
There was silence for a few seconds as both boys considered this. Fulton turned and stared down at Averman, who was staring right back. Then, they both started cracking up. The image of the little Asian teen in a bandanna trying--without success--to talk trash was too hilarious for them to contemplate seriously.   
  
"God, no," Fulton gasped finally, when the laughter had subsided to a few, well-spaced snickers.   
  
Averman nodded, taking off his glasses and wiping away tears of mirth. "I agree."  
  
"Hey!" A familiar voice shouted to them. A tall figure darted out from behind a ragged hedge and yelled, "My old Ducks!"   
  
"Hey, Jesse," Fulton greeted. Averman just grinned goofily and waved. Jesse rolled his eyes.   
  
"Man, same old Reed and Averman." Jesse smiled. He had changed, though, having become much taller and more muscular in the two years since they had seen him. A small hoop, probably plated with fake gold, dangled in each ear and he wore his hair in cornrows. [2] He flung an arm around Averman's shoulders and asked cheerfully, "So what brings you to Blue-Collar Avenue?"  
  
"We're escaping an evil hockey coach who's trying to destroy our will to live." Averman answered just as cheerful, flicking one of the earrings.   
  
Fulton asked, "Think we could get a game of street hockey going? Just for fun."   
  
"You said the magic words, Bash Brother, the magic words!"  
  
****  
  
"Where the hell is he?" Dean asked the empty room, pacing nervously. He'd just gotten the third-degree from Coach Orion, who didn't know where Fulton was either. And Averman was missing, too. For some reason, Dean thought they were ditching practice together, and for some reason, that thought made him irrationally jealous.  
  
'What am I thinking? Fulton's my best friend, just my friend. Why should I care if he's out having fun with Les...without me...alone with Les...dammit! I am not jealous of Averman!' Dean sat down heavily on the bed and tugged his dark, wavy hair in frustration. 'Okay, maybe I am. But is it just because he's hanging with my best friend, or...'  
  
He sighed. 'Okay, let's test. Think of a girl...Molly Ringwald, from that "Sixteen Candles" flick?' A look of disgust flickered over his face. 'Bad example. She's too annoying. What was that other movie she was in...the one with that guy who looks like Coach Bombay...'  
  
"Yeah, 'The Breakfast Club'!" Dean exclaimed aloud. 'Allison Reynolds...what's her real name, um...Ally Sheedy!'  
  
He thought of Ally Sheedy, in all those dark clothes, and the heavy black eye-makeup, with the messy black hair. Yes, she was very pretty. And Dean had had a minor crush on her since watching the video at his aunt and uncle's house at age nine.   
  
'Okay, I still think Ally Sheedy is sexy. But damn,' he groaned, hiding his face in his hands, 'she's like a female Fulton! That doesn't help me!  
  
'Maybe I'm bi. I like girls, I like guys...no,' Dean shook his head, 'No, I don't. I like girls and my best friend!' The impulse to beat himself up was surfacing again. Aloud, he muttered, "Dean, you are some screwed-up bastard. Fulton's gonna freak...look what he did this morning."  
  
'Well, I just won't say anything.' He told himself sternly.   
  
That decision would soon reveal itself to be one of the big mistakes in his life.  
  
~~Fortgefahren Werden...~~  
  
[1] This was actually the big question on my mind while watching D2, other than 'I wonder if Fulton and this new Portman guy hook up?' and 'Why doesn't Guy speak more? Guy should have more lines.'  
  
[2] Wheehee. Sexy Jesse. Don't worry, kids, I'll explain while this lovely hunk of hockey-playing charisma isn't at Eden Hall. 


	7. Fast Car

A/N: Some of you might be going, "Dammit, where the hell is the HOCKEY?!" And to that I say, "I'm the authoress! I can do what I want!" No, seriously, my stories are a hell of a lot more character-driven than anything. I like making only passing references to the game, because I want to keep the focus on the characters involved. (Total 180 from Disney's approach, yes?)  
  
For those worried about the Bashes' friendship/relationship, I'll dispel the fears now. There will be some tension, but no major misery. And the fight that they'll eventually have will end up...happy. Happyhappy, if you know what I mean. ^_^ (Aaron Lohr fans! Look for "Newsies" and especially "Daydream Believer" references in upcoming parts! Elden Henson maniacs, I tried, but there are less "The Mighty" and "Idle Hands" stuff than I'd like.)   
  
****  
  
"Might as Well, Part Seven"  
  
["You got a fast car/ But is it fast enough so we can fly away/ We gotta make a decision/ We leave tonight or live and die this way/  
  
I remember we were driving driving in your car/ The speed so fast I felt like I was drunk/ City lights lay out before us/ And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder/ And I had a feeling that I belonged/ And I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone..."  
  
--from "Fast Car" by Tracy Chapman']  
  
It had been a month since Les and Fulton skipped their special hockey practice. After proving themselves at the Ducks v. Hawks game, they escaped Coach Orion's evil grasp and left poor Luis--who kept regressing back to his 'unstoppable speed-demon' days--to his fate. Or, as Luis himself had said the day after his first special practice, "I've been thrown to the non-existentent mercy of Coach Orion."  
  
Dean had kept silent about his feelings for Fulton. Fulton, feeling closed off from his best friend, continued to spend more time with Jesse, Guy (when /he/ wasn't with Connie), and Averman. Deciding that Fulton was going to keep leaving him out, Dean started buddying around with Goldberg.   
  
This bothered Fulton. One day, he asked Dean, "Why do you hang out with Greg so much?"  
  
Dean looked up from his English paper and shrugged. "We connect on a very deep philosophical basis," he smirked. Fulton looked incredelous.   
  
"Goldberg? Philosophical?"  
  
"Nah..." Dean grinned teasingly. "The deepest conversation we ever had was about what exactly constitutes the cream filling in a Twinkie, and whether that same recipe was used in the cream filling for Oreos." Flicking his pencil and watching it roll back down his desk, Dean muttered, "I guess I hang with him 'cause you're always off with other people now."  
  
'Thank you, master of the guilt trip,' Fulton thought. How did Dean know the exact thing to say that made him feel like dirt for the way he'd been treating his friend?   
  
****  
  
"Hey, Portman, I gotta question." Goldberg said as they walked to the Drill Team's practice later that day.   
  
Dean narrowed his eyes and warned, "If it's about if I ever wear tights in dance class..."  
  
"Oh, no, no!" Goldberg cried, lifting his hands in a defensive gesture. "Nothing like that." A curious look flickered over his face, and he inquired, "Do you?"  
  
"It was a leotard, and only once!" Dean yelled. Goldberg flinched.   
  
"Okay, okay. Sheesh, man." Goldberg waited a minute, to be safe, and then asked, "Why do you keep asking me to hang out, Portman?"  
  
"Dunno," Dean replied.   
  
"Are you and Fulton fighting or something?" Goldberg persisted. Dean stared at him in surprise,  
  
"Why would you think that?"  
  
"The Ducks kinda noticed that you guys are seen apart a lot more. I thought you two were like this," Goldberg held up crossed fingers, "but suddenly the both of you act like something's wrong."  
  
'Something is wrong,' Dean said to himself, 'I think I've fallen in love with my best friend, and he'll totally hate me if I tell him so.' But he remained silent, and Goldberg didn't pursue the topic further.   
  
After a few minutes though, the defenseman wondered aloud, "If you ever /did/ wear tights, would they have to be control-top?"  
  
"Goldberg!" Dean shouted in exasperation.  
  
****  
  
"What's up, Fult?" Jesse asked, holding out a fist. Fulton's lips twitched into a little half-smile as he lightly hit Jesse's fist with his own, then Jesse tapped down on his fist, and he repeated the motion. "You look down about somethin'."  
  
"I guess." Fulton said, avoiding Jesse's eyes. Jesse offered,   
  
"You wanna go over to my place? We can talk there if you want."  
  
Fulton smiled with relief. "I'd like that."  
  
****  
  
Jesse popped the tab on his can of RC Cola and flopped down on the couch. Fulton sat on the loveseat, wincing as the old springs shrieked a mettalic protest to his weight. They sipped their drinks in silence.   
  
Finally, Fulton said, "Can I ask you a question, Jess?"  
  
"Shoot, man."  
  
"How come you didn't come to Eden Hall with the rest of us?"  
  
Jesse didn't respond right away, and Fulton started to say he was sorry for the question. Holding up a hand to stall the apology, Jesse explained, "It's okay, I'll tell you. You can tell the rest of the Ducks if you want; it's not a big secret." He sighed. "My mom, my dad, and I all have sickle cell trait. But Terry wasn't so lucky. He has the disease, sickle cell anemia."  
  
"Oh, man," Fulton gasped. Jesse nodded and continued,   
  
"We've known since he was a baby. He seemed okay, though, most of the time. Sometimes he'd complain of pain, and he'd get more infections than I did. But nothing big or terrible. Still, Mom wouldn't let him go to the Goodwill Games. And afterward, he started to get even sicker. So, instead of going to Eden Hall, I decided to stay with the neighborhood high school so I could help take care of him more." Jesse drank deeply from his can of soda. "My little brother's more important than some hockey scholarship to a private school any day."  
  
"Yeah, I understand. I'm sorry, Jess."  
  
"/I'm/ okay." Jesse insisted, even though he didn't quite look it. "Terry's at a check-up right now..."   
  
"Dude, now my problem seems all petty and stupid." Fulton drained the can he held and began playing with the tab, flipping it back and forth, weakening the little ring fastening it to the top of the can. "It's just...I feel like Dean and I aren't as good of friends as I thought we were."  
  
"He's important to you," Jesse observed. When Fulton looked at him, dark eyes apprehensive, Jesse said, "I mean, I remember when you first joined the Ducks. The only time I remember you smiling is when you made that awesome shot and we all mobbed you on the ice."  
  
"That /was/ great," Fulton admitted.  
  
"But I always thought you were the odd one out until Portman came along. You and him are really alike, really good together." Jesse smiled, "So what's changed?"  
  
Fulton shrugged, snapping the tab off and dropping it in the litttle hole. "We don't spend time together. I help him with his homework, but Drill an' Dance takes up a lot of his after-school time, so I hang with the others. And then, on the weekends, he does stuff with me, but only if Goldberg or anyone else isn't free." Fulton sighed deeply, "I guess...I guess that I miss him."  
  
****  
  
Fulton unlocked the door to the room and poked his head inside. "Dean? You here?"  
  
He wasn't. 'Probably out with Greg or Julie,' Fulton thought bitterly. He lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling for a long time. The silence started to get to him, and to counteract it, he flipped on Dean's stereo. He recognized the first notes of one of his favorite songs and returned to his spot on the bed, letting the sound and emotion wash over him.  
  
He was so lost in the song that he didn't realize that he was softly singing along: "You've got a fast car, I want a ticket to anywhere. Maybe we can make a deal; maybe together we can get somewhere. Any place is better; starting from zero we've got nothing to lose. Maybe we'll make something, but me myself I've got nothing to prove..."  
  
~~Para ser continuado...~~  
  
A/N: Sorry about the suspense. This is the last thing I'm gonna do today, my drugs-and-notebook sabbatical is today. Much love guys, hope you liked this chapter! ~~Schiz 


	8. Losing My Religion

A/N: Woo! I feel loved! Soli, Selena, Tai, you guys rock! ::group huggles:: Not to worry, Wolfie, I couldn't take the sadness too much longer myself. Enjoy, darlings! And remember, more reviews mean more chapters!  
  
****  
  
"Might as Well, Part Eight"  
  
["Every whisper of/ Every waking moment I`m/ Choosing my confessions/ Trying to keep/ An eye on you/ Like a hurt lost and blinded fool/ Oh no I`ve said too much/ I set it up/   
  
Consider this/ Consider this/ The hint of the century/ Consider this/ The slip/ That brought me to my knees failed/ What if all these fantasies/ Come flailing around/ Now I`ve said too much/   
  
I thought that I heard you laughing/ I thought that I heard you sing/ I think I thought I saw you try/   
  
But that was just a dream/ That was just a dream/   
  
That`s me in the corner/ That`s me in the spot-light/ Losing my religion/ Trying to keep up with you/ But I don`t know if I can do it/ Oh no I`ve said too much/ I haven`t said enough..."  
  
--from "Losing My Religion" by R.E.M.]  
  
It was a bright Saturday afternoon, windy to the point of being cold enough for people to huddle in their jackets and hurry through the streets. The sun hung, a cheerless white orb in a frozen clear blue sky, rendered impotent by the cold wind.   
  
Luis, being the latest victim to Coach Orion's somewhat insane demands, was being treated by Adam to a lunch "wherever you want to go." Now, though, Connie was complaining about it, to the annoyance of Charlie, Banksie, Luis, and Fulton. Guy attempted to placate her, unsuccessfully.   
  
"Cons, we'll go out to dinner at that nice sushi place you like, the one that serves the tofu California rolls."  
  
Connie shot her boyfriend a look of suffering. She twined her hand with his and looked at him with sad, puppyish eyes. "Guy, honey," she started, her voice dripping sweetness, "I couldn't possibly...I think I'll be sick just being here...I'm so sorry."  
  
"Quit it, Connie," Charlie huffed, "McDonald's isn't /that/ bad."  
  
"Yeah," Adam cut it, "You can eat the french fries or an apple pie. Besides, I gave Luis a choice, so why don't you respect that and be nice, for /once/?"  
  
Connie let go of Guy, and, eyes blazing with fury, snapped, "Just what are you insinuating, Cake-Eater? That I'm not nice? That I'm disrespectful? That I--"  
  
Guy cut her off, "Cons, don't let him get to you. He's making you cause a scene." He looked at Adam, asking for forgiveness with his expression. Adam rolled his eyes and huffed with annoyance. When Connie nodded and excused herself to the ladies' room, Luis said in a low voice,  
  
"Guy, man, you are /whipped/."  
  
"Okay, I'll have a number one, large...are you gonna order, you guys?" Fulton called from the counter. The rest of them hurried over, and Adam paid the bill. As they walked with their trays to one of the booths, Adam commented,   
  
"I gotta tell you, I expected to spend a /lot/ more. You're pretty cheap to treat, Luis."  
  
"Guess so. Thanks, Banks, " Luis said with a shrug, biting into his Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese. Connie just barely hid her gag behind a napkin. She went through the whole meal like that, nibbling on Guy's french fries and looking completely disgusted. Needless to say, the boys all ignored her.  
  
****  
  
They walked around town for a while, stopping outside the movie theater to check the shows and times. Charlie's eyes lit up and he suggested,   
  
"How about we go see 'Beavis and Butt-head Do America'?" Fulton, Guy, and Luis nodded in agreement, but Connie and Adam looked reluctant. Connie had never seen the show; Adam had, but he found it utterly pointless and stupid.   
  
"How about 'The Craft'?" He counter-suggested. Connie nodded enthusiastically, and Guy muttered that if Connie wanted to see it, he would. Luis looked a little concerned.   
  
"That's the one about the witches, right? I don't think we should see anything to do with the occult."  
  
"'From Dusk Til Dawn'," Fulton read aloud. "It has vampires."  
  
After a few more minutes of arguing, 'From Dusk Til Dawn' was what they decided on.  
  
****  
  
As they came out of the theater, Connie grabbed Guy's arm and dragged him off to the left, just so she could avoid a scruffy-looking, probably homeless young man sitting on the curb, smoking a cigarette. Adam looked embarrassed and followed the two of them, while Charlie and Luis simply ignored the man, still deep in conversation about the movie--especially a certain scene involving a stripper and a snake.   
  
Fulton, though, went right up to the man and said, "Hey." The man looked up and shrugged, taking a long pull on his cigarette,   
  
"'Sup, man."  
  
"You doin' okay?" Fulton inquired, sitting beside him. The man pushed dirty brown hair behind his ears and looked at Fulton with his brow furrowed in confusion. Shifting slightly, uncomfortable with Fulton's friendliness, he muttered,   
  
"I guess." When Fulton didn't say anything else, the man decided to ask him, "You know about a place I can spend the night? I just got here from Hayward."  
  
"Wisconsin?"  
  
"Yup. Spent all my money on the Greyhound ticket."  
  
Fulton reached into his pocket and pulled out the eight dollars and seventy-five cents he had there. Pressing the bills and coins into the man's hand, he said, "There's the Marie Sandvik Center on East Franklin Avenue."   
  
As Fulton got up to rejoin his friends, the man said, "Hey, thanks!" Fulton lifted a hand in acknowledgement but didn't look back. The other Ducks were staring at Fulton, and Luis commented, not unkindly,   
  
"Man, Fult, you're one soft touch."  
  
Fulton shrugged. "Some friends of mine were homeless for a long time."  
  
****  
  
"Oh!" Dean whirled around in his swivel chair, seeing Fulton standing in the doorway. "You're back. I was just," he leaned down and grabbed his boots, "leaving."  
  
Fulton watched without comment as Dean pulled on his shoes and got up to leave. But as his roommate approached the door, Fulton slammed it shut and said calmly, "No, you weren't. And you're not now."  
  
"What the hell is /this/?" Dean demanded.  
  
Folding his arms over his chest, Fulton replied, "I want to talk to you."  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. "Can it wait?"  
  
"No!" Fulton looked angry. He had a right to be, Dean mused. Taking a deep breath, Fulton said, "Look. I just...I feel like we aren't friends anymore, and I want to know if it's something I did, so we maybe can fix it."  
  
"We're still friends!" Dean protested. It was Fulton's turn to roll his eyes.   
  
"Yeah, sure, we're still friends. So why do you go out of your way to avoid me?"  
  
Dean stared at the floor, unsure of what to say. Finally, he muttered, "It's not you, bro."  
  
"Then what is it?"  
  
"I don't know!"  
  
"Bullshit. You know. Tell me."  
  
Dean glared at him rebelliously. "I /can't/ tell you."  
  
Fulton's eyes softened. He stepped toward Dean, saying softly, "You can tell me anything, Dean."  
  
"Not this." Dean backed away. "I can't, not this."  
  
"Why not?" Fulton asked. He took a step back, to widen the distance between them and hopefully make Dean more comfortable. Dean looked like he was going to cry.   
  
"You'll hate me."  
  
"No, I won't. I swear."  
  
"You will."  
  
Fulton said patiently, "I won't."  
  
"I know you will," Dean retorted. Fulton was starting to get frustrated.   
  
"I wouldn't say you could if it wasn't true."  
  
"You don't know!"  
  
"That's right!" Fulton cried, grabbing Dean by the shoulders and giving him a single, rough shake. "I don't know, because you won't stop being a scared little bitch and just /tell/ me what's the matter!"  
  
Dean pulled away. He let out a breath and said shakily, "I love you, okay? I tried to stay away from you because I've fallen in love with you, Fulton." At the shocked look on Fulton's face, Dean closed his eyes and began mentally berating himself for being so stupid, not only to fall in love with his best friend, but to tell his best friend so.  
  
"You bastard," he heard whispered vehemently, and a pair of strong arms were flung around his shoulders, followed quickly by soft, warm lips pressed over his mouth. Fulton was...kissing him? Kissing him, not yelling at him, not storming away, not...  
  
Eager fingers raked through his hair as a tiny sound of pleading escaped Fulton's throat. 'I can live with this,' Dean admitted dryly to himself, embracing Fulton tightly and kissing the boy back. But a simple, chaste kiss such as that couldn't satiate months of desire and denial all on its own. With a thrilling growl of need that sent chills throughout Dean's entire body, Fulton pulled the boy toward him until his own back was up against the door and their bodies meshed comfortably. Their tongues met and wrestled, as hands explored tentatively, until the need for air outweighed the need for that sublime contact and they broke apart, gasping.   
  
Both were flushed, and Fulton laughed at Dean's expression as he gently finger-combed the errant curls out of Dean's angelic face. "You look surprised."  
  
"I am," Dean whispered, "It's a nice surprise."  
  
"Mm-m..." Fulton responded, a sly smile making him look positively devilish. "So, I take it that another would be appreciated?"  
  
"Always," Dean answered, claiming Fulton's mouth again.  
  
~~To Be Continued....~~  
  
A/N: Bash-slash, Bash-slash! Woohoo! ::does happy dance:: I hope I made you guys happy, too! 


	9. What's Left of the Flag

A/N: I is blushing, you guys. You're gonna make me do something embarrassing...Ahh, what the hell...w00t! ::does happy dance:: You like me, you really like me!  
  
Seriously, I got a major case of the happies seeing all the consecutive reviews from Grasshopper. ::Deathglomp:: And my friend Wolfie's always-wonderful feedback. And Kelly's own "WOOT"-ing review...And of course, the loves from Sele, Tai, and Soli. ::hands Soli a clone of her Fulton:: Shh...don't tell...'tis illegal in these United States and all...Have fun!   
  
This chapter is another purely-for-fun lunchtime chapter, because I want some plotlessness before we get back to the snogging and breaking the news to the rest of the Ducks. Mostly dialogue.   
  
Oh, and my vacation is nearly over (On the seventh! ::weeps::) so I'm getting in as much writing as I can, but once I go home, it's very likely that I won't be writing as often, seeing as I start vocational school then. ::grabs Soli's bottle:: Gimme that...wish me luck, darlings!  
  
****  
  
"Might as Well, Part Nine"  
  
["From the East out to the Western shore/ Where many men and many more will fall/ But no angel flies with me tonight/ Till freedom reigns on all/ And curse the name for which we slaved our days/ Till every man shall his kingdom come./  
  
But sure as night turns day/ Ends the passion play/ Oh my God what have they done?/ WIth madman's rage, well they dug our graves/ But the dead rise again you fools./  
  
Walk away me boys, walk away me boys/ And by mornin' we'll be free./ Wipe that golden tear from your mother dear/ And raise what's left of the flag for me."  
  
--from "What's Left of the Flag" by Flogging Molly]  
  
"If a tree falls in a forest and there is no one there to hear it, does it make a sound?" Russ asked Julie. He took a long drink of his root beer as he waited for her to finish chewing her potato chips and answer.   
  
"The fact that a human being or any other animal is observing a natural occurrence doesn't change the facts about it. Since trees falling have been observed to make a noise, it follows logically that a tree falling will always make a noise." Julie replied. Russ looked impressed and then annoyed, because she retorted with, "What's the sound of one hand clapping?"  
  
Russ held up one hand and moved it in a similar motion to the one he would make if he were indeed clapping. "That," he answered with a cheeky grin.  
  
"What are y'all doin', Russ?" Dwayne asked as he sat down next to his friend.   
  
"Jules and I are trading rhetorical questions as practice for speech and debate." Russ answered distractedly. His eyes lit up and he demanded of Julie, "Where are the snows of yesteryear?"  
  
Julie faked a yawn, "Last year's snow melted into water during the spring thaw, and can be found in streams, rivers, or the Great Lakes."  
  
"How long has this been going on?" Adam inquired of Goldberg, who had gotten to the table before anyone else.   
  
"Since they came in the lunchroom," replied the defenseman, but Julie cut in.   
  
"If you're going to ask such a general question, I'll give the broadest answer. Scientists estimate that the universe has been in existence for 13.7 billion years, with a 1% margin of error in that calculation."  
  
Adam rolled his eyes and said, "I'm just going to spend some quality time with this ham-and-cheese deli sandwich, then, and not ask any more questions." True to his word, Banksie took a huge bite out of his sandwich and then had to concentrate on chewing for ten minutes.  
  
"Why do they sterilize the needles for lethal injections?" Julie asked Russ.  
  
"Habit," Russ answered. He let Julie finish her chocolate chip cookie before he asked her, "What do they use to ship Styrofoam?"  
  
"Probably just a cardboard box, because the styrofoam doesn't need any padding itself. And stop giving one-word answers. You're supposed to explain your answer /in detail/."  
  
"Just because you're long-winded," Russ grumbled to his can of root beer. Julie didn't hear. Connie, who had thus far concentrated on her boyfriend and her vegetarian meal, wondered aloud, "Why is there an expiration date on my sour cream container?"  
  
"It must start to grow mold by then," Russ answered.  
  
"Gross..."   
  
Charlie grinned and asked, "What was the best thing before sliced bread?"  
  
"A bread knife, to slice the unsliced loaf of bread with." Julie replied.  
  
Luis whispered to Charlie, "Actually, I was gonna say 'sex.' But that comes after, too."  
  
"You eat sliced bread before sex?" Charlie whispered back.  
  
It was quiet for a while as the Ducks all considered different rhetorical questions. Finally, Averman asked, a huge grin plastered on his face, "If someone with multiple personalities threatens to kill himself, is it considered a hostage situation?"  
  
"No, they'd just be considered to have MPD and suicidal tendencies, and given more medication." Julie answered.  
  
Averman persisted, "When sign makers go on strike, is anything written on their signs?"  
  
Russ replied, "In invisible ink."  
  
"Why does the buttered side of the toast always land on the floor?" Guy mused, contemplating his bagel and debating with himself whether to drop it to see if the statement applied to cream-cheesed bagels as well.   
  
Julie said quickly, "It's heavier than the unbuttered side." Guy decided that he was too hungry to waste food like that.  
  
Dwayne looked excited. "I got one, I got one!"  
  
"Spill it, Cowboy," Russ ordered. Dwayne beamed and asked,  
  
"How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?" The rest of them sat in silence for a moment, stunned by the sheer idiocy of the question. Dwayne grinned, "That one stumped ya too, huh?"  
  
After a moment, Kenny brightened and recited, "A woodchuck would chuck all the wood he could chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood." Dwayne looked slightly disappointed. Ken turned to Julie and asked, "Why isn't phoenic spelled the way it sounds?"   
  
"Because English is a language with many root sources, and it's screwy. I'm tired of questions."  
  
The rest of them agreed and went back to their lunches. Goldberg noticed that the Bash Brothers had been unusually quiet at their end of the table, and turned to look at them. They were sitting next to each other, building a replica of the Eiffel Tower with the silverware.   
  
"I guess you guys are friends again?" He asked, leaning toward them. Fulton and Portman exchanged a look and smiled.   
  
"Uh-huh, Goldie," Portman answered, "Now, go away, we're working here." And, unseen beneath the table, he gave Fulton's hand a gentle squeeze. Fulton smiled and snitched Julie's fork to make up the second tier.   
  
Another day, another lunch hour.  
  
~~Om Zijn Verdergegaan...~~ (Dutch) 


	10. Love is a Battlefield

A/N: I don't watch Tom Green...that I used questions featured on the show is just an odd coincidence.   
  
Please, people! Reading much farther without reading "Unforgiven" (the prequel) will only confuse you. So don't start whining because you can't listen. Also, this damn story took on a life of its own (meaning more darkness to balance the fluffy gook)...I have no idea how many chapters it will end up being. I'm sort of sorry, but also not, because I love everything about this fanfic. ^_^ I'm so egotistical...  
  
****  
  
"Might as Well, Part Ten"  
  
["You're beggin' me to go, you're makin' me stay/ Why do you hurt me so bad/ It would help me to know/ Do I stand in your way, or am I the best thing you've had/ Believe me, believe me, I can't tell you why/ But I'm trapped by your love and I'm chained to your side/  
  
We are young/ Heartache to heartache we stand/ No promises, no demands/ Love is a battlefield/  
  
We are strong, no once can tell us we're wrong/ Searchin' our hearts for so long/ Both of us knowing/ Love is a battlefiled/  
  
We're losing control/ Will you turn me away or touch me deep inside/ And before this gets old, will it still feel the same/ There's no way this will die/ But if we get much closer, I could lose control/ And if your heart surrenders, you'll need me to hold"  
  
--from "Love is a Battlefield" by Pat Benatar]  
  
"Hey, Dean?" A soft whisper, followed by a few pokes to the ribs.  
  
Dean groaned and opened his eyes. The digital face of his alarm clock informed him that it was five thirty in the morning, a full fifteen minutes before he was supposed to get up. He turned his head and came face to face with Fulton. The dark-haired teen was sitting on top of Dean's legs, leaning down so that their faces nearly touched.   
  
"Mornin'." Fulton said, beaming with pleasure to see Dean awake. Dean had to smile back, as his irritation at being woken up early evaporated at the sight of Fulton's sunny smile.   
  
"To what do I owe this...wonderful awakening?" Dean asked, pausing to yawn. Fulton looked slightly abashed when he realized what time it was. Dean felt his eyes flutter shut, but he was too tired to do anything about it. Warm fingers gently stroked his face, sliding down to trace where his pulse beat strongly at his neck. A soft sound of pleasure passed his lips as Dean whispered, "Have I told you recently that I love you?"  
  
Fulton lightly pressed his lips to Dean's and murmured, "You just did."  
  
"Guess I did," Dean chuckled, and kissed him back. "Seriously, why the dawn wake-up call?"  
  
"It's kinda dumb," Fulton began apologetically, coloring slightly. "And I guess I shouldn't've woken you up; it could've waited..."  
  
"Fulton." Dean interrupted. "Spit it out, honey."  
  
"I've got this friend...in Stillwater...that I promised to visit. You wanna come with, this weekend?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
****  
  
Dean glared at the science teacher beneath lowered eyelids, hating the man for being so damned /boring/. He was going to fall into a coma if he had to listen to this much longer...  
  
A paper football landed on his hand. Curiousity revived Dean enough for him to pick it up and read 'Open and Read' printed on one side in a familiar hand. He glanced at Fulton, seated on his left, and raised an eyebrow. Fulton gestured with his pencil to the paper in Dean's hand, then looked back down at his own paper with an expression of extreme concentration.   
  
Before opening the note, Dean leaned over caught a glimpse of Fulton's paper, only because he was worried that his boyfriend was actually doing the classwork, which would have been a sign of mental illness in Fulton Reed. Instead, he observed an intricate pattern of flame-like spires blending into faceted icicles. [1] Relieved, Dean quickly unfolded the paper football.   
  
'Been thinking. Should we say anything about us to the team?'  
  
Dean thought for a moment. The original Ducks would probably be cool with it, seeing as they'd known and been friends with Fulton for a long time. Mostly, he was more worried about the reactions of Luis, Dwayne, Julie, Ken, and Russ; along with himself, they were recent additions to the team and hadn't been friends very long. He'd heard Luis commenting negatively about homosexuals, and Dwayne was...well, Dwayne was Dwayne. It wasn't likely that the cowboy had met many open gays; he'd believe the stereotypes of the limp-wristed, feminine, promiscuous gay man. Kenny and Russ, though, were from California...they might be used to homosexual couples, at least tolerant. Julie was a wild card. He wasn't really good friends with her.  
  
He scribbled quickly, 'Do you want to?' and folded the paper back up, flicking it back onto Fulton's desk.  
  
The reply was long. 'Connie & Guy should be okay w/ it. Adam & Les too. Charlie, Goldberg, Luis, Dwayne...maybe, maybe not. Don't know about Russ, Julie & Ken.'   
  
'Let's do it. If they hate us, we can always work to get transferred to Varsity.'  
  
Fulton marked out the sentance about Varsity and wrote, pressing hard, 'NO WAY IN HELL' and underlined that three times, finishing with a frowning face. Under this, he scrawled, 'After school, then?'  
  
Reading the last message, Dean caught Fulton's eye and nodded in agreement. He crumpled up the paper and stuffed it in his pocket.   
  
****  
  
Dean was studying Fulton's piece of artwork and nearly walked into a tree. Fulton managed to stop him in time and asked, eyes sparkling mischieviously, "What's the matter with you?"  
  
"Bro, that's one trippy-ass picture. S'makin' me dizzy." Blinking to orient himself, Dean asked, "How'd you come up with that shit?"  
  
"Dude..." Fulton shrugged, "Been dropping acid since I was ten. It's kind of a given."  
  
"/Seriously/?" Dean demanded, "And you never /shared/?"  
  
"You never asked," Fulton reminded him cheerfully. Dean smacked him on the head.   
  
"Fuck you, man. Who was smoking pot with you at the Goodwill Games, Kenny?"   
  
Fulton looked thoughtful. "Actually...no, I never asked him to. But that doesn't mean you'd want to do acid."  
  
"Hey, guys!" Guy called behind them. The Bash Brothers stopped walking, and Dean turned around, watching apathetically as the blond struggled with a huge bookbag and caught up to them.   
  
Fulton commented, "You're gonna destroy your back, walking around with all that shit in your bag."  
  
"Oh, yes," Guy said in a mock-serious voice, "I should adhere to the Bash Brothers' School of Thought and get all my sleep in class, so I can stay up until two in the morning blasting AC-DC through the paper wall of the dorm."  
  
"You should." Dean replied. Fulton winked at Guy and explained,   
  
"Sarcasm usually goes over Dean's head."  
  
Guy smiled. "He and Connie have /that/ in common. Anyway, what's this important thing you two've gotta tell us Ducks?"  
  
"No weaseling it out of us early," Dean scolded. Guy looked mildly offended.  
  
"I do /not/ weasel! /Do/ I weasel, Fulton?"  
  
Fulton shrugged. "Dunno. Does looking like a weasel count?"  
  
"Oh, very funny. You're just like my older brother."   
  
"No, I'm not. He's blond, a drama nut, and he probably kicks your ass on a regular basis." With a grin, Fulton finished, "Whereas I, your friendly neighborhood enforcer, am dark-haired, play hockey, and protect you on the ice, where you seem to be a magnet for pain."  
  
"The man has a point." Dean said helpfully.   
  
****  
  
The team had assembled, in accordance with Fulton's passed-on instructions, in the JV locker room. Charlie was leaning next to the team bulletin board, arms crossed, looking agitated. When Dean, Fulton, and Guy walked in, he burst out with, "What's the big deal you guys, is someone dying?"  
  
A faintly troubled, distant look flickered over Fulton's face. Dean replied dryly, "Not today, Captain Duck."  
  
"So what's the matter?" Connie asked a little louder than necessary, worry apparent in her tone. Guy drifted over to her and sat down, taking one of her hands in both of his own. Dean looked around and saw that Connie's worry was reflected, in varying degrees, on the faces of everyone there. He sighed and glanced at Fulton, who took his hand.   
  
"Well...everyone..." Dean drew a deep, steadying breath, "Fulton and I are...together."  
  
"Together how?" Julie demanded.   
  
"Um...like, Connie and Guy together. That kind of together." Fulton replied softly. The resultant silence following this admission was deafening.   
  
It was Averman who spoke up first, breaking the tension. He smiled supportively at the couple and cracked, "Guess it's a good thing I never dropped the soap in the showers."  
  
Fulton looked at him with feigned disbelief. He joked back, "Like I'd want you!" Holding out both hands palm-up, he lifted one, saying, "David Lester Averman: skinny little pale dude in glasses, tells really bad jokes." Raising the other, he continued, "On the other hand, Dean Aaron Portman: very attractive, strong, and /actually funny/. It's no contest, man."   
  
Averman walked up to Dean and patted his shoulder. "Sorry, Portman. You heard the man."  
  
Dean shot Averman his best withering glare. "Get away from me."  
  
"Yes, sir!" Averman chirped, unfazed. [2] The others began to voice their reactions.   
  
Luis shrugged. "Whatever. Just don't...don't start acting different...from usual." Guy and Adam congratulated them. Kenny said nothing, looking neither particularly happy or particularly angry.   
  
Connie also shrugged, but said "If it makes you happy...go with it, eh?"  
  
Russ said, "Hey, it don't matter to me."  
  
Dwayne retreated to the other side of the locker room, pretending that nothing was happening. He looked a bit shell-shocked, so everyone else left him alone. Goldberg was shaking his head, muttering to himself, "It's never who you expect, is it?"  
  
Charlie looked a little weirded out himself, until Adam said quietly to him, "It's not gonna change their hockey-playing ability, Spazway." Then the captain sighed and mumbled something to the effect that he just needed to get used to the idea.  
  
This seemed to set Julie off. She had merely been sitting there, face blank and unreadable, until Charlie spoke. She jumped to her feet and said loudly, "I can't believe that you're all just going to /accept/ this!"   
  
Ken narrowed his eyes. "Elaborate on that, Julie." He had been silent so far, trying to gauge everyone else's reactions before speaking for himself. Julie crossed her arms defensively.   
  
"This is sick. Just /sick./ It's plain unnatural. I don't know about you people, but I'm not going to play with a couple of /faggots,/" she spat the word out like poison, her face twisting into a very ugly look, "on my team. I'm out of here." She grabbed her jacket and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. Dwayne, sensing an ally, scurried after her.   
  
Fulton deadpanned, "Looks like you're the goalie again, Goldy."  
  
"Aw, man," Goldberg whined, "couldn't you've stayed in the closet 'til the end of the season?"  
  
****  
  
After coming out to the team, Dean and Fulton had to inform Coach Orion as well, to beat Julie--who was probably off ranting to Dwayne, her only real audience of her hate-speech--to the punch. The man stared at them for a minute or so, finally saying calmly, "I hope that both of you understand the ramifications of this."  
  
"Yeah, we lost you your goalie." Fulton replied with the same level of calm.   
  
Dean broke in angrily, "She didn't want to play with us 'faggots,' Coach. I swear, if she wasn't a fucking girl--"  
  
"Language, Portman." Orion reminded. He sighed heavily and stared down at the papers on his desk, rubbing at his temples. "I won't lie to you and say that losing Gaffney isn't a blow to the team, because it is. Goldberg just doesn't have her level of performance." Redirecting his gaze to the teens across his desk, Ted Orion said quietly, "But team unity is more important than an amazing goalie. Greg can be improved upon, but I doubt that we can un-teach homophobia by ourselves. Eden Hall isn't the most...diverse of campuses, so Julie's reaction may be the indicator of what you'll find here."  
  
"Good thing we can stand up for ourselves," Dean grumbled.   
  
The coach looked truly sincere as he apologized. "I'm sorry. I really am."  
  
Fulton smiled bravely. "Don't worry, Coach. We don't blame you for the ignorance of others."  
  
~~Para ser continuado...~~  
  
[1] This is actually a description of a piece of my own artwork, except mine is in blue ink, not pencil.  
  
[2] Sound familiar? 


	11. Push

A/N: I am having trouble accessing my reviews...being back on my restricted AOL account, yanno, the damn thing has all these blocks on my screenname. I can't get my reviews for this or "Unforgiven," and I can't read Tai, Soli, and Sele's fics! I'm sorry, I really am!  
  
So I'll be changing my profile email to "fangir1bynum83r5@yahoo.com" and reactivating the Review Alert. A big thank-you goes out to geometrygal for helping me out of the horrible reviewless situation I was in. (I said I was a review-whore, did I not?)  
  
****  
  
"Might as Well, Part Eleven"  
  
["Don't just stand there, say nice things to me/ I've been cheated, I've been wronged/ And you, you don't know me/ I can't change/ I won't do anything at all  
  
I wanna push you around/ Well, I will, well, I will/ I wanna push you down/ Well, I will, well, I will/ I wanna take you for granted, I wanna take you for granted/ Well, I will."  
  
--from "Push" by Matchbox Twenty]  
  
The rest of the week was fairly rocky. Dwayne, manipulated by Julie, helped her spread hateful lies about Fulton and Dean. Because of these half-truths and rumors, the Bash Brothers were getting into violent altercations, resulting in a month of weekend detentions. Coach Orion officially kicked Julie off the JV team, recommending her for Varsity. The alumni were suspicious, and Dean Buckley came to Friday practice clearly upset. He pulled Orion aside and warned him that an investigation into Julie Gaffney's removal from junior varsity would be under way on Monday.   
  
"Great," Charlie grumbled after Friday's practice, "Campus police breathing down our necks."  
  
"I'm sorry, you guys," Fulton said, looking dejected. Connie patted him on the back.   
  
"It's not your fault, or Dean's. Julie was the one who raised the big fuss about everything."  
  
"And Dwayne," Goldberg pointed out darkly. Every pair of eyes in the room turned to the Texan, of whom only his feet were visible, since now he changed in one of the toilet stalls like Connie did--and Julie had done. Though it was true that the Catlady had done most of the talking, Dwayne was still willingly segregating himself from the rest of team because of the Bash Brothers' sexual orientation. He didn't even eat at the same lunch table anymore, and while some found this to be an improvement, it was bad for the team to be divided, even one player against the others, on such an important issue.   
  
"Are you going to be in detention all weekend?" Kenny asked. Dean looked at the Little Bash Brother like he was crazy.   
  
"You kidding? Fulton and I have plans, man. And staring at a blackboard in silence for five hours isn't one of them." A pair of Greyhound bus tickets were produced from Fulton's jacket pocket for the benefit of the team. Fulton looked preoccupied, however, and he didn't explain them further.   
  
Charlie looked troubled. "We have a game on Sunday; you're gonna be back by then, right?"  
  
"Naah, we're going to Louisiana to visit Fulton's folks for a week." Dean said straightfacedly.   
  
Charlie hurled a puck at Dean's head and snapped, "You better be joking, or Windsor is gonna cream us."  
  
"Oh, very inspiring, Charlie. Thanks." Goldberg spoke up, his words dripping sarcasm. Charlie looked embarrassed and apologized,   
  
"I didn't mean it /that/ way. But we've all seen Windsor's team."  
  
"On average, they're bigger, faster, stronger, and they have more facial hair." Averman deadpanned. "Kinda like a whole team of Bashes."  
  
"Yeah, we need your awesome mastery of the fine art of ass-kicking, for entertainment if nothing else." Adam said, smiling. "Because Russ trying to teach Ken how to talk trash is just not funny anymore."  
  
"Your mama," Kenny retorted half-heartedly. Everyone laughed at that, but it was cut short by Dwayne's emergence from the bathroom stall and the hasty exit that followed. Luis stood up and offered,   
  
"I can try to talk to him. He /is/ my roommate and all..."  
  
"Thanks, Luis." Fulton said softly.   
  
Luis grabbed his coat and walked to the door. He put a hand on the doorknob and looked over his shoulder, saying uneasily, "I may not like certain things about you guys, man, but you're still good friends. You don't deserve to be treated like this." Then he pulled the door open and walked out.  
  
****  
  
Dean was watching with interest the endeavors of a woman on the other side of the bus; the lady was pushing forty-five at least, with hair too vibrantly blonde to be natural, and she was determinedly applying the ninth layer of fire-engine-red lipstick to her thin lips and an area of the skin around her mouth in an effort to make her lips look fuller. Her eyes, traced with black liner and turquoise makeup, looked terribly sticky from both lack of sleep and too much mascara that clumped her false eyelashes together. She twisted her lipstick down and popped the cap back on it, adjusting her bosom in the black lace bra that Dean could see the very edge of poking out of her red dress--the same shade of red as her lipstick.   
  
"Dean, stop staring at the transvestite."  
  
"What?" Dean twisted around to look at Fulton, who was in the seat behind him since the two of them couldn't comfortably sit in the same narrow seat. Fulton nodded over to the 'woman' in question.   
  
"She...or he, if you want to get technical, is a transvestite. I've seen her getting ready on this busline before." Fulton leaned back, crossed his arms, and looked rather smug. "Calls herself Scarlett, but his real name is--"  
  
"Rhett Butler?" Dean suggested.   
  
Fulton raised an eyebrow. "No. Brad." He jabbed at Dean's arm lightly with two fingers. His dark eyes were unreadable as he murmured, "That would be unbearably cliché." He tried to poke Dean again.   
  
Dean captured Fulton's hand and threatened, "Do it again and I'll beat you up."  
  
"You'll try, you mean." Fulton looked out the window at the blur of scenery. Making no move to release his hand from Dean's hold, he whispered without conviction, "I could knock you right into next week..."  
  
"You okay, bro?" Dean asked with concern, moving to kneel on the seat so that he could lean closer to his boyfriend. Fulton mumbled that it was nothing in an unconvincing way. "Are you sure? You look all...spacey and out of it. Fulton? Hello, Earth to Fulton..." Dean snapped his fingers in front of Fulton's still-averted face.   
  
"What?" Fulton said sharply, turning to glare at Dean.   
  
"You're not even listening. Something's the matter, Fulton, what is it?"  
  
"Just thinking." He sighed heavily, his expression softening. "About...all kinds of shit. Stuff that happened in Stillwater, my parents..." A dark look, one of tightly restrained fury and pain, momentarily took hold of his face, passing away as Fulton shook his head in defeat. "It was so...I don't know how to describe it, but it fucked me up bad, Dean."  
  
"I love you," Dean said in reply, impulsively pressing his lips to Fulton's knuckles. "Fucked-up past and all, honey."  
  
Fulton looked as though he might cry, but he controlled the emotion and whispered, "Thank you."  
  
They stayed like that for a long time, just looking at each other in a comfortable and companionable quiet. Then Fulton sighed and rested his head on the top of Dean's seatback. Dean stroked Fulton's hair, marveling, as he always did, at how soft and fine the black strands felt against his fingers. He smiled slightly as he traced Fulton's features, set so placid and almost innocent, contrasting mightily with his stormy eyes.   
  
"I love you, too." Fulton whispered suddenly, giving Dean's hand a squeeze. A loud sniffle broke the dream-like quality, and Fulton raised his head to see Scarlett dabbing at her eyes, crumpled tissue coming away with black marks. He and Dean exchanged a glance.   
  
"That's so sweet," Scarlett said in a soft, affected sort of voice. "So sweet..."  
  
****  
  
Dean had wanted to ask where they were going, but Fulton merely grabbed his forearm and dragged him away from the bus stop, and something in his eyes forbade any questions. It wasn't until they approached the cemetary that Dean finally burst out with,   
  
"Would this friend of yours be, by any chance, dead, Fulton?"  
  
"Yes." Fulton answered simply. "Come on."  
  
The gates were open, and Fulton released Dean as they entered. He walked faster now, looking neither left nor right, but straight ahead, as though some external force was compelling him forward, as though this pilgrimage was not of his own will. Dean followed at his side, trying to catch Fulton's eye, trying to read an expression that he couldn't see fully.  
  
They were now in a section of the cemetary that looked ill-maintained. The grass was trimmed around the plots, but withered flowers rotted in stagnant water contained in the holders, and weeds were so prevalent in places that they obscured the names on the grave markers. Obviously, no one cared much to tend to the final resting places of these souls.   
  
Fulton got on his knees without a word in front of one grave overgrown with grass and clover. He ripped the little plants up almost viciously, throwing them aside without heed as to where they would land. Dean, hovering over Fulton's shoulder, read the name on the marker aloud. "Haley Jessica Shale, 1978-1992."  
  
Fulton nodded. "She was my friend."  
  
"She died in '92." Dean knelt beside Fulton, who was motionless in his contemplation, and said softly, "Wasn't that the year that...the Ducks were formed?"  
  
"Yes." Fulton whispered hollowly. "She was here when I came. I'm not originally from Stillwater...my latest set of foster parents just live here." He looked down, at his hands, at the metal marker with its raised letters so harshly and sparsely noting both birth and death without comment, and he said in the softest of voices, "She and Jay were my first friends."  
  
Dean put an arm around Fulton's shoulders. "Do you want to talk about it?" He asked encouragingly. Fulton gazed at him, his eyes black in the dim sunlight, and answered that yes, he did.   
  
But he didn't say a thing, not right away. And then, he began to talk and found that he couldn't stop. "My mom was from Louisiana, like I told you. And my dad, he was shipping stuff to Baton Rouge on a regular basis. They got married and he took her up to Minnesota to live with him. We got a property a little ways up the St. Croix from Stillwater, and that's where they lived and that's where I lived, too, for a while.  
  
"Mom was a speed addict before she ever met my dad...so she found herself a dealer up here, guy by the name of Taylor. She managed to clean up once they found out she was pregnant, but she told me later that I'd have to be an only child 'cause she could never go clean again. By the time I was five, she was using heroin, too. My dad hated her for it, she was costing him so much money after all, money that he'd rather spend on his friends Jack Daniels and Jim Beam, you know what I mean?"  
  
Dean nodded. "Yeah, yeah I do."  
  
"And he blamed me for it. Remember, she didn't start shooting smack until I was born. He'd beat her, and if I tried to stop him or if he was mad enough or even if he was just bored, he'd beat me, too. It was worse if he'd been out drinking, sometimes. Eventually, he started throwing me into this linen closet we had when he hit my mom, or after he was done with me." A deep shudder passed through Fulton, but he was unaware of it. Dean hugged him tightly, and Fulton petted his boyfriend's arm absentmindedly. "I was eight when my teachers found out, and then Child Protective Services took me away.  
  
"I was a holy terror, Dean. Nobody could put up with me for more than six months. For a year and a half, I moved around Minnesota with a backpack of clothes and a hockey stick, just this violent, mean-tempered, ugly little kid that nobody wanted."   
  
"Well," Dean interrupted, gently turning Fulton's head to face him. "You're still kinda violent now, but you're also a beautiful, quiet, evil genius and /I/ want you." He cradled Fulton's face between his palms, moving his thumb to wipe away the single tear that slipped past Fulton's defenses and down his pale cheek. He brushed his lips against Fulton's and urged, "Tell me more, Fulton."  
  
"I...I..." Fulton fumbled wordlessly for a few moments, and then he said vehemently, "Later, I swear."   
  
"You sure?"  
  
"I'm sure. I promised Haley that I'd visit, because she said her parents wouldn't. And she was right, of course." Fulton stood up and his lips curved into a strange half-smile. "She was always right."  
  
****  
  
"I grew up in a trailer park, did you know that?" Dean asked. They were sitting in a Dennys restaurant, eating a lunch that was, of course, huge. Fulton shook his head and took a sip of his coke. Dean grinned. "Yeah, it was a real shock when I went to visit my cousins in the suburbs as a kid. I had no idea that there were houses actually built into the ground."  
  
"You gave off a trailer-trash vibe when you showed up, but I didn't want to say anything. I was too pissed to talk to you." Fulton said. "I hated your guts, man."  
  
"You weren't exactly on my list of people to be friendly to either, Fult."  
  
"Realized your mistake soon enough, though, so I forgive you." Fulton smiled haughtily, and Dean kicked him under the table. "Ow! Dude, that fucking hurt!"  
  
"Serves you right." Dean said brightly. Fulton leered at him suggestively,   
  
"Just wait until I get you home, then you'll get what /you/ deserve."  
  
~~To be continued...~~  
  
A/N: I'm so dirty...I'm gonna MAKE this thing earn its R rating, believe you me. 


	12. Closer To God

Feedback: 'Cause I love my reviewers that much.  
  
Tai--I wuv you. ^_~ Rob Thomas is such a sex toy. Glad you liked Scarlett AKA Brad, I liked writing that part. And Fulton 'n' Dean ARE horribly stubborn...I had to seek outside help on this chapter.  
  
Sele--Yes, well, Dean is something of gentleman around the ladies (in my universe), so he's hesitant to beat Julie's brains in like she deserves. Not to worry, Phoebe will rain down proper vengeance in due time. ::chugs her Hard Lemonade:: Who cares about PC? But if you insist: Jono is sociopathic biracial (?) trash. If you miss my reviews so much, send me the chapters and I'll email you my feedback. ^_^  
  
Soli--Oh, honey, /I'm/ your friend. ::hugs:: The whole marrying me thing? I dunno, suddenly lycanthrope is proposing or something. Just get hitched to Fulton-clone. ::sticks Ring Pop on Solis's left ring finger:: There, it's official. ^_^ And yes, please send your psychotic muse over to blow up AOL Time Warner, megaconglomerates are the devil incarnate.  
  
Lycanthrope--::looks at her co-authoress oddly:: You're gonna give me the worst case of an overabundant-ego, darling Wolfie. That's okay, you're aware that I worship every word you write, aren't you? (The thing about Windsor was, I had the name stuck in my head and the association that they were bad guys...I truly did not remember that you used them in "The Bash Brothers in Love"!) We can be self-centered Ducks-Goddesses together! (The drawing is from a DXM trip, very fun, that. I will find a scanner and get the thing up /someday,/ I promise.)  
  
****  
  
A/N: Despite the song selection, the love scene here is probably gonna be somewhat tame--or at least not very well-written. I'm more romance-novel than porn-magazine in my love scene writing. ^^;;;; It's gonna take so much work to get this done tastefully. Plus, I'm only calling on my own limited sexual experience...but let's not go there. I just love this song like so much pie that I had to use it. (::gets Homer-esque look on her face:: Mmmm...pie...)  
  
HUGE thank-yous to Britts/geometrygal, meme, and kellyerielf. Without you guys, I probably would have ended up taking the wrong road in this chapter and ended up awfully embarrassed, even if I did manage to pull it off. So! You do realize that you have a slave here, for a while now? ^_^  
  
****  
  
"Might as Well, Part Twelve" AKA The EVIL Chapter  
  
["help me/I broke apart my insides/help me/I've got no soul to sell/help me/the only thing that works for me/help me get away from myself/  
  
I wanna fuck you like an animal/I wanna feel you from the inside/I wanna fuck you like an animal/my whole existence is flawed/you get me closer to god/  
  
you can have my isolation/you can have the hate that it brings/you can have my absence of faith/you can have my everything/  
  
help me/you tear down all my reason/help me/it's your sex I can smell/help me/you make me perfect/help me become somebody else."  
  
--from "Closer to God" by Nine Inch Nails]  
  
"As usual, marijuana saves an otherwise disastrous day..." Fulton murmured, leaning back against Dean and closing his eyes.   
  
Dean asked, "How was today disastrous?"  
  
"I thought about the past. Doing that always makes me wonder why I'm always the one to end up, fuck, like, knee-deep in life's crap."   
  
They were in Fulton's room at the Greens' duplex, mellow from the hash they'd recently finished. There was a note in the kitchen saying that Fulton was home, he'd brought his roommate along ("It's not a lie, it's the witholding of information," Fulton said serenely when Dean complained), and 'please knock on the bedroom door and let us know when you're home'. After that, they raided the refrigerator in advance and grabbed a stereo from the other bedroom ("Some girl Chloe that Kyle and Lorraine took in after my foster sister Phoebe left.") before locking themselves in. One of Dean's Guns 'n Roses tapes was playing, and Chloe's New Kids on the Block CD had been thrown out into the hall in disgust.   
  
"Does it help that I end up at least ankle-deep in crap most of the time?" Dean wondered. Fulton considered this and nodded slightly.   
  
"It helps a lot." He leaned his head back on Dean's shoulder and opened his eyes, smiled, and stated matter-of-factly, "You're sideways."  
  
Dean kissed his cheek and replied just as prosaiacally, "Come over here, then, and set me right."  
  
Fulton lay down on his side and tugged Dean down to lie beside him. Dropping a soft, brief kiss on Dean's lips, he said with satisfaction, "That's better."  
  
"You're not lying on your keys," Dean said, sitting back up. Fulton, being clad in only a tee shirt and his boxers, shrugged and said,   
  
"So take off your pants."  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow. "You don't put much stock in subtlety, do you?" Fulton smiled happily and shook his head. Dean sighed, "Okay, fine," and stripped off his pants and leather jacket, only to be dragged back down again and kissed soundly once he was done.   
  
"That's much better."   
  
****  
  
They did nothing for at least five minutes but lie there in that full-size bed, content to just hold each other. Dean was tracing lazy swirls along Fulton's upper arm when he felt a scar along the young man's left bicep. Running his fingers along the nearly invisible mark, he inquired, "What's this from?"  
  
"Mm? Oh," Fulton shifted away from Dean and turned his arm so that inside of it was visible. "Flathead screwdriver. Got my arm up before he hit my eyes or anything like that. Bled like a bitch, though."  
  
Although Fulton did not say explicitly who the man was, Dean knew. It was Fulton's father, the abusive bastard. Dean kissed the scar gently, running the tip of his tongue along the smooth flesh. Fulton shivered with pleasure, and Dean whispered, "I wish I could make it all go away, honey."  
  
"I haven't even seen them for years," Fulton told him softly. "They're probably dead, anyway." He felt Dean's hands sliding under his shirt, seeking out more evidence of his father's physical abuse. Panic rose in him, and he pushed Dean's hands away, saying, "Don't. Please."  
  
"I want to know you," Dean retorted, his eyes intense and hungry. "Everything about you. Bad and good, Fulton, it makes you who you are."   
  
Fulton sat up and stared at him, his own eyes half-wild with fear, half-pleading. "Dean, I..." he stopped, dropped his gaze, and said with difficulty, "I am...so sorry. It's just...this scares me, a little bit. To let you...to let you in. I've had to close out so much..."  
  
"I understand." Dean replied. He pressed his lips to Fulton's hair, promising, "I tell you anything, show you anything, that you want to know about me, okay? It's only right."  
  
"Stop being so sweet," Fulton laughed, a slightly hollow sound, "You're gonna make me do something stupid like...cry. I'll bawl like a fucking baby, swear I will."   
  
"We wouldn't want that..." Dean teased, kissing Fulton's nose. "Would we?"  
  
Fulton pulled back, looking rather miffed. "I'm serious."  
  
"So you're serious. Here, let me help you take off this shirt..."  
  
"Obviously, sub--" Fulton was cut off as Dean pulled the black Nirvana shirt over his head. He grabbed it himself and threw it at Dean's head, a blow which he avoided. "Subtlety isn't a big thing with you, either."  
  
"Nope," Dean said, a suspiciously charming grin on his face. He simply looked at Fulton for a few moments, during which time Fulton felt a little uncomfortable.   
  
"What?" He demanded at last, unable to stand the silence. He self-consciously folded his arms and glared at Dean.   
  
"You're gorgeous."  
  
"And you're blind," Fulton snapped, entirely unamused when Dean laughed at him. "You are," he insisted. Dean hugged him tightly.   
  
"Stop being so negative about yourself." Dean nuzzled Fulton's neck, planting warm kisses along his neck. Fulton was already pleasantly confused by all the flattery being directed at him, so by the time that Dean's mouth had wandered down his chest toward his belly, he was completely dizzy with desire. Dean paused to pull off Fulton's boxers, and a whimper of need sounded in Fulton's throat. "Are you okay with this, honey?"  
  
"Yes," Fulton breathed.   
  
Dean persisted, "I just wanna warn you that I've never done this before."  
  
"Oh, God," Fulton said softly, rolling his eyes, "If you're talking about what I think you're talking about, then I wouldn't expect you to. Just.../touch me/ or something, Christ." Dean took this advice quite literally.   
  
Fulton stifled a cry when Dean fisted his hand over Fulton's rigid sex and gently squeezed. Green eyes met black ones as they settled into a rhythm of movement, and Dean smiled slightly.  
  
"Good?"  
  
"Unbelievably," Fulton panted in reply, hot, searching hands clutching at Dean's back. "I love you, Dean."  
  
"That's nice to hear," Dean murmured dryly. He had meant what he said, about wanting to take away everything that had ever hurt Fulton, and even more he wanted to protect Fulton from ever being hurt again. That, of course, could only ever happen in a perfect world. And it had been proved to both of them many times that this was a very imperfect world.   
  
But it didn't matter right then, not in the slightest. It didn't matter that Fulton avoided his questioning eyes when Dean's fingers brushed against the cigarette burns or the ridged marks from his father's belt buckles, because he whispered roughly that those things were in the past and didn't count. It didn't matter that neither of them quite knew what to do, because each was patient with the other and next time would be better for the trouble. It didn't even matter that Fulton smothered a scream and that his fingernails drew blood when Dean entered him, because pain fades quickly when it visits those well-acquainted with it.   
  
What mattered was that they loved each other.   
  
****  
  
Fulton's fingers hovered near Dean's face, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to touch, to risk waking his lightly sleeping lover. Instead, he traced the curve of Dean's jaw, his touch sporadic and feather-soft. Dean murmured something incomprehensible and shook his head, coming to rest on Fulton's shoulder. Fulton shifted closer, wincing as a certain soreness began to set in and make itself known. He could never have dreamed that sex could be so intense and wonderful, but he knew that it wouldn't be the same with anyone else. It was Dean or no one else. He could and did imagine the pain later, dull and achy, annoying because it wouldn't get worse or better for a while.   
  
A gentle knock on the door was followed by Kyle saying, "Fulton, we're home. Lorraine's making meatloaf for dinner."  
  
He heard Chloe's high, childish voice, "Hey, what's my New Kids CD doing out here?" and he grinned.   
  
"Okay, thank you," he called to Kyle. He looked back toward Dean to see that the boy was awake, looking at him with worry.   
  
"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"  
  
Fulton gazed at him with an air of wounded seriousness. "Terribly. I'll never let you do that again." He watched with a straight face as remorse flew over Dean's features and allowed himself to be embraced before he whispered in Dean's ear, "You are incredibly gullible, Mr. Portman."  
  
Dean pulled back and stared at him. Comprehension dawned, and he shoved Fulton onto his back. "And you are evil, Mr. Reed."   
  
"Now that we have that established, we should get dressed so you can meet Kyle and Lorraine."  
  
Dean shook his head. "I knew that there had to be strings attatched."  
  
~~To be continued...~~  
  
A/N: Hah, two references to two Elden Henson movies in the same section! I rule at incorporating inside lines. I was surprised though, that no one saw fit to comment on the rather bad joke in Chapter Eleven about Guy's older brother...even if it was terrible, I figured that /someone/ had to notice. 


	13. Some Girls Do

A/N: This is the first of two consecutive chapters that ::gasp:: don't prominently involve the Bash Brothers! What am I thinking?! (I'm thinking that the story needs a little development beyond the happies of our Bashies.) Actually, I'm trying to treat Dwayne more nicely, and get more Luis in the story.  
  
So you know, this chapter happens right after the first section of Chapter Eleven (Friday). Chapter Fourteen happens at the same time as the next section of Chapter Eleven and Chapter Twelve (Saturday). The Bash Brothers' storyline picks up in Chapter Fifteen (Sunday).  
  
****  
  
"Might as Well, Part Thirteen"  
  
["Well, I ain't first-class but I ain't white trash/ I'm wild and a little crazy too/ Some girls don't like boys like me/ Oh, but some girls do/  
  
Well good ole' boys don't get no breaks/ And rich boys think they got what it takes/ But there's someone for each of us they say."  
  
--from "Some Girls Do" by Sawyer Brown]  
  
Dwayne was humming a country song to himself as he held up two button-up shirts and compared them. A very nice girl from gym class had agreed to go out to dinner with him tonight, and he planned on taking her to an outdoor play in the park afterward. The play was called "Little Me," an adaption by Neil Simon that was supposed to be very funny. Dwayne liked Neil Simon; the first play that he had seen was "The Brighton Beach Memoirs."   
  
He heard the door to the room open and close, and he turned around, holding up both shirts and asking, "Luis, which one should I wear on my date tonight?"  
  
"You have a date tonight?" Luis marveled. Dwayne nodded, and motioned with both hands that Luis should chose. "The blue one," Luis said, pointing to it.   
  
"Thanks." Dwayne laid the shirt flat on his bed and carefully smoothed it of the most obvious wrinkles. "Her name's Tara Dixon. She hit me with a tennis ball when we were learnin' tennis in gym."  
  
"What'd you do?"   
  
"Nothin'. It was an accident, on account of she don't play tennis very well." Dwayne glanced at his reflection in the mirror and groaned, grabbed a brush and started attacking his hair. "So anyway, we got to talking and I asked her if she'd like to have dinner with me. She said yes."  
  
"That's it?" Luis demanded incredelously, "You get hit with a tennis ball and start talking, and then you ask her on a date and she says /yes/?"  
  
"Don't mean nothing. She's nice, but maybe I won't like her so much if I know her better." Dwayne shrugged. "Girls up here, they ain't like the ladies back home."  
  
Luis watched Dwayne get ready for his date. Normally, Luis would be the one running around the dorm room on a Friday night, slathering his hair with gel and spritzing cologne, brushing his teeth and gargling a million times, finishing off by chewing a piece of gum and scraping up enough money to buy the girl a few flowers. But having just broken up with one of his cheerleader girlfriends, he was trying to cultivate a sensitive, loving persona by acting heartbroken and jilted for a while. Girls went nuts for the dark, brooding, sensitive type, didn't they? He certainly hoped so.  
  
"Hey, Dwayne, what do you think of Fulton and Portman?"  
  
The Texan froze. "What do you mean?"  
  
Luis decided to leave him dangling for a little bit and made a show of patting his perfect hair as if in an attempt to make it more perfect. He said nonchalantly, "Well, I'm not too thrilled about them myself."  
  
"Oh," Dwayne looked relieved. "Julie says that it's wrong for them to...be the way they are."  
  
"Yeah?" Luis said, interested now. The others had spun theories about Julie using Dwayne, and this seemed to be proof of it. "I dunno...neither of seem to be acting any different. They're decent guys."  
  
"Julie says that if they were decent people, they'd stop. They'd chose not to be like that and stop sinning."  
  
Luis raised an eyebrow. "Do you think that being homosexual is a sin?"  
  
"Well...yeah, 'course it is. God laid down the rules. He made man for woman, and woman for man. He didn't make woman for woman, or man for man." Dwayne looked a little confused by the questions, but also very convinced of his views. "I thought that you didn't like it either, Luis."  
  
"I don't. But they aren't hurting me."  
  
"Yeah, but what if one of 'em gets AIDS, and then they bleed on you or something? That'd hurt you, wouldn't it?" Dwayne argued.   
  
"If I contracted HIV, that'd hurt me, sure. But they don't have AIDS. And if they did, they'd tell us." Luis almost smiled. If his old friends in Miami could hear him now! He'd gone from queer basher to gay rights spokesperson in less than a week... "Besides, you're Christian, aren't you?"  
  
Dwayne nodded, unsure of how this related to the topic. Luis gestured to the crucifix that he'd hung over their door.   
  
"I'm Catholic. And all Christian faiths say that Jesus took everybody's sins onto himself when he died on the cross. Don't you think that that includes Fulton and Portman being boyfriends?"  
  
Dwayne sat down. "That makes sense. 'For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son...'"  
  
"'...so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life.' John 3:16." Luis finished. He gave into the impulse and smiled. "That's what I'm saying. God still loves Fulton and Portman even if they're gay, so the least I can do is stay friends with them."  
  
"But Julie said that God hates gays." Dwayne protested. "Why would she lie to me?"  
  
"Maybe she doesn't know any better. Anyway, don't worry about it right now. Don't you have a date to get to?"  
  
"Oh, shit!" Dwayne checked his watch and jumped to his feet. "I was supposed to pick Tara up five minutes ago! I gotta go!"  
  
Luis watched his roommate run out of the room and slam the door. His dark gaze traveled up to rest on the carved-wood crucifix. He sighed and said, "¿Es usted feliz, Señor? Defendí a mis amigos.[1]" A hopeful look crossed his face as he thought, 'That /has/ to earn me a nice girlfriend...'  
  
~~To be continued...~~  
  
[1] Are you happy, Lord? I defended my friends. 


	14. To The Moon and Back

A/N: This is the second of two chapters that ::gasp:: don't prominently involve the Bash Brothers! What am I thinking?! (I'm thinking that the story needs a little development beyond the happies of our Bashies.) Also, I'm up for a little Connie 'n' Guy-torment, how about you guys?  
  
****  
  
"Might as Well, Part Fourteen"  
  
["She's takin' her time,/ Making up the reasons,/ To justify all the hurt inside/ Guess she knows,/ With the smiles and the look in their eyes,/ Everyone's got a theory 'bout the bitter one/ They're sayin' 'Mum never loved her much,'/ And, 'Daddy never keeps in touch.../ That's why she shies away from human affection.'"  
  
from "To the Moon and Back" by Savage Garden]  
  
Guy was tired of hearing it, all the snide little comments directed at him like, "Does Connie have anything planned for you two today, Guy?" and "Guy, man, you are /whipped/." and "Ooh, are you sure Connie's not gonna be mad at you?" He was sick of being treated like 'Connie's boyfriend' was all that he was or could be. He was fairly certain that he'd be called 'Mr. Moreau' if they ever got married.  
  
Married? Now, that was a thought...a rather unwelcome thought at the moment...  
  
A sudden surge of cheering brought him out of his reverie. He had finally gotten tickets to a Minnesota Waves game and he wasn't even watching it. The crowd groaned as the visiting team's star forward gained control of the puck and outskated the Waves players covering him. Connie grabbed Guy's hand and watched, tense, immersed in the action.   
  
There was a huge crash as a Waves enforcer appeared out of nowhere and viciously checked the opposing player into the boards. Waves fans roared their approval of the move, and Connie even leaped to her feet, hollering at the top of her lungs, "That's what you /get/, you /loser/! There's more where that came from; just /try/ to score again!"   
  
Embarrassed, Guy tugged her down, back into her seat. He hissed sharply, "Connie, settle down!"  
  
Connie turned, ready to give him a acidly humorous retort, but she stopped at the look on his face. It was a look that she was seeing with more and more frequency lately, one of weary unhappiness. As though something had happened that made him sad or angry, but he was so resigned to the fact that it had to happen he would say nothing. Privately, she wondered if perhaps she was the cause.   
  
Guy realized that she hadn't said anything, that she was merely staring at him, brow furrowed and eyes full of curiousity. "What's the matter, Gee?" She asked softly, using the old appellation that he hated and that she knew he hated. Or rather, she thought that he hated others to call him 'Gee'.  
  
The truth of the matter was, it had taken him years of pleading to get everyone to stop calling him that, and he would have like it to be really everyone. However, Connie was implacable; she persisted in using the nickname, but at least she refrained from doing so when the rest of the team was around. In fact, Connie was implacable on a lot of things, being so set in her ways and opinions that it usually took something of earth-shattering magnitude and importance to change her mind.   
  
"I'll tell you later, okay?" Guy replied, as he had every time the thing that was the matter was their relationship. Connie had never pursued the topic, so what would make her do so now?  
  
****  
  
It was later, in the diner where Ms. Conway worked, that Connie decided to pursue the topic. The Waves had neatly crushed the visiting team, five to two. Connie took a sip of her water and asked, "So, what's the matter, Guy?"  
  
Guy studiously avoided her eyes and added a generous dollop of ketchup to his plate of fries. "What do you mean, Cons?"  
  
"I mean, the look you gave me today at the game. And yesterday in Pre-Cal. And a couple of weeks ago at McDonald's with Banks and the others. And a million other times. What's the matter?"  
  
"I don't know," Guy told the table, still refusing to look Connie in the face. He sighed heavily. "I really don't. It's that...sometimes...sometimes, I can't stand you, Connie." Hurriedly, he continued, "Other times, nothing makes me happier than being with you. It's mixed up. I feel...I feel..."  
  
"You wonder how you can love everything about a person, but hate everything, too." Connie cut in. He looked up at her, eyes wide and apprehensive. She smiled, and there was a quality of tiredness in her smile, "I hoped we would have this talk."  
  
"I love you, Connie," Guy said. It was all that he could find to say.  
  
"I love you, too, Guy." Connie reassured him.   
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't be." Connie bit her lip and struggled to control the tears that made her nose tingle painfully and stung the corners of her eyes. "Neither of us are really happy, are we?"  
  
"It's too...too..." Guy sighed. "Too something. But not a good something."  
  
Connie nodded. "I understand." Both fell silent. This was unknown territory for them. One of the few truly dependable things in their lives had been each other, and their love. Now, while they still loved each other, they had changed, becoming too different for each other.  
  
"We're still Ducks." Guy said finally. He reached out and touched Connie's hand. "And I'll always fly with you, Cons. No matter what."  
  
And just like that, it was over.  
  
****  
  
Over. It was over.  
  
Guy pummeled his pillow, trying to distract himself from thinking about it. But it rose again despite his best efforts at murdering the soft cushion. A crushing guilt, a 'if I had done better, it wouldn't have turned out like this' kind of feeling. Exhausted, more emotionally than physically, he flopped down onto the bed, buried his face in the pillow, and cried.   
  
****  
  
Goldberg came up to his dorm room to find Guy lying on the floor on his back, staring up at the ceiling with a creepy intensity. The other boy's eyes were red and swollen, his face shiny from dried tears. He looked like someone near and dear to him had just died. Goldberg halted in the doorway and inquired,   
  
"Guy, are you all right?"  
  
"All right?" Guy echoed. He laughed, a mirthless and ugly noise, and repeated, "All right? No, Goldy, I'm not all right, and I won't /be/ all right for a while now."  
  
"What happened, man? You look...you look..." Goldberg fumbled for a moment, then said frankly, "You look like shit."  
  
"Feel like it, too."  
  
"Did you and Connie get into a fight?"  
  
"Me and Connie?" That sound, the laugh that wasn't a laugh at all, rose from his throat again. He turned his head to look toward Goldberg, or at least at the young man's feet. "Me and Connie, that's done. It's over. All in the past..."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Connie Moreau is a free woman. And I'm a free man. We're no longer going out." Guy raised his head and saw that none of this seemed to be getting through to Goldberg. He enunciated clearly, "Connie is my ex-girlfriend," emphasizing the 'ex.'  
  
****  
  
"They broke up?" Russ repeated. Goldberg nodded, looking miserable.   
  
"Man, if Connie and Guy, who've been together for five, almost six years can break up, what does that say about /any/ relationship?" Averman groaned suddenly, "My chances at happiness have just reached astronomical odds of not happening!"  
  
"Focus, Averman, focus!" Goldberg cried, smacking Averman's head lightly. After he had talked Guy into cleaning himself up and removed all the sharp objects from the room, Goldberg had combed the campus for any Ducks present. Russ and Les were the only ones he could find.  
  
Russ, typically one of the more stoic players, was fairly agitated by the news. But Averman, flighty and dramatic Averman, took the news as though it was a special bulletin that the world was ending. Goldberg was unhappy for three reasons: two of his oldest friends were miserable, he was sure Guy would turn out suicidal, and Luis--an authority on break-ups and make-ups--was nowhere to be found.   
  
"What do you want me to focus on?" Averman demanded. He shouted in Goldberg's face, "I am panicking! You do not interrupt any Averman who is panicking!" He whirled away and began pacing, his hands clasped behind his back. "We Avermans have a long and frenzied history of panicking in the face of great adversity! My great-grandfather Paul Averman, panicked when the stock market crashed and jumped off a roof! It was a general store roof, and he landed in a pile of garbage and survived, but that's not the point! My uncle Manny panicked when he caught Aunt Fay in bed with his best friend and shot himself in the leg! My second cousin Ellen panicked when her living room curtains caught on fire and tried to put them out with an aerosol can! Needless to say, it didn't work! And I, Les Averman, am panicking over the fact that Connie and Guy are no longer together and there's nothing I can do so well as panic, so leave me to it!"   
  
"Well, the Tylers have a long history of minding our own business." Russ said. "So if Guy comes asking me for help, sure I'll give it to him, but I ain't gonna worry about something I can't fix."  
  
****  
  
Connie said many very unladylike things as she strangled the pillow unlucky enough to belong on her bed. She imagined that it was herself, whom she was attempting to kill because she was stupid enough to just let Guy go without trying to make things better. Then she buried her head under the pillow and cried for an hour.  
  
~~To be continued...~~ 


	15. Destination Unknown

A/N: Okay, okay. For those of you who caught the whole Windsor thing know that I'm borrowing the team from lyanthrope, right? So no claims of plagerism...  
  
I have serious issues with this chapter. But that's okay, because the story is going to be ending in a few more anyway...I get to leave Connie and Guy alone after this, because they need to deal and all that. And after this, it's on to the Portman-centric "Combat Boots and Clover"! Yay!  
  
****  
  
"Might as Well, Part Fifteen" (holy shit, I've already reached 15?!)  
  
["I see life and it's passin', right before my eyes/ The past is the past, don't regret it/ Time to realize/ I need to walk on the wire, just to catch my breath/ I don't know how or where, but I'm goin'/ It's all that I have left/  
  
It don't matter where it takes me/ Long as I can keep this feeling/ Runnin' through my soul."  
  
--from "Destination Unknown" by Marietta]  
  
"Hey, Connie..." Julie hissed spitefully as she followed the other girl out of the library, "heard you broke up with Guy. Did he turn out to be a /fairy,/ too? I've seen him hanging around campus with those faggots...did you find him in bed with one of them? Or /both/ of them?"  
  
"I have nothing to say to you, Julie Gaffney." Connie said softly. She shifted her copy of 'The Great Gatsby' beneath her arm and stopped to take a drink from one of the water fountains in the hall. Julie leaned against the wall and waited for her to keep going.   
  
"Oh, but I have things to say to you, Connie Moreau." Julie smiled cruelly, and matched pace with Connie. Connie looked straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the girl's presence. "Aren't you sorry now? Wish you'd been like me and stood up to them?"  
  
Connie gritted her teeth and thought, 'Oh, you bitch, you utter bitch, why can't you leave me alone?' But to say it out loud would be responding to her heckling, which would only encourage more of it.   
  
"They're corrupting everyone. It's a disease...a disease of the mind. And your boyfriend..." Julie put a hand to her mouth, "Oops. I mean, your /ex/-boyfriend...he's been infected. Isn't it just a /cryin'/ shame?"  
  
Connie's hand twitched, clenching into a fist for a brief moment, then hung slack at her side. Julie continued in her abusive vein of rhetoric, not noticing the movement.   
  
"It must be killing you, Moreau. To think of Guy...as a queer. As a boy's boy-toy. But then, he's been /exposed/ to it for a long time, hasn't he? What's it been, five years?" Julie gave Connie a look and asked in a would-be innocent voice, "Has Fulton always been a faggot, or is this a recent thing?  
  
"But of course, he's /got/ a choice. I think it's that Dean Portman...because Fulton seemed perfectly /normal/ before Portman showed up again. Do you think we could get him expelled? Maybe that would fix Fulton Reed." Julie laughed suddenly. "Oh! No it wouldn't, Guy Germaine is a fag, too!"  
  
Connie was sure that Julie had much more to say on the subject. But she never heard it, because once they reached the doors outside, she bolted, hearing Julie's mocking laughter behind her for much longer than she actually heard it.  
  
****  
  
"Let me get this straight," Fulton said, rubbing his temples. He tilted his head to one side and inquired, "So, Guy and Connie just...suddenly, without any warning...broke up?"  
  
"Man, we go away for a day, and you guys come apart at the seams." Dean quipped. Goldberg, to his credit, glared at the much-bigger teen, and snapped,   
  
"Be serious, Portman. You didn't see Guy yesterday. You didn't /hear/ him." Involuntarily, Greg shuddered at the memory of Guy's ugly, situationally inappropriate laughter. "I went through the room twice looking for sharp objects."  
  
"You think he might hurt himself?" Fulton demanded. Goldberg leaned against the doorframe of the Bash Brothers' room and nodded. He looked worn, and the darkening circles beneath his eyes indicated a sleepless night.   
  
"Dude..." Dean said, "I wouldn't put it past him."  
  
"Well, watch out for him, will you guys? I'm asking everyone to help."  
  
"Even Connie?" Fulton asked. Goldberg shook his head.   
  
"She's...not in a mood to be talked to."  
  
****  
  
"Fuck!" Connie screamed, throwing her helmet into the showers and cracking a tile. After fleeing from Julie, she'd grabbed all her gear and went to the locker room to change. Thinking that going through her paces might help her settle down, she had gotten halfway through putting on her uniform when everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours hit her. The rage at herself, for being so blind as to not see Guy's unhappiness, the sorrow at ending their relationship, and the blindly impotent fury she felt remembering the terrible things Julie had said to her, and most of all the shame at running away from Julie...it all slammed into her at once.  
  
She grabbed one of her ice skates and hurled it with all her strength at the locker across from her, seeing raw metal where the blade had struck it. Then she collapsed, voicing a loud, despairing sob.   
  
"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you..."   
  
And she didn't even know who she was talking about.  
  
****  
  
Adam took a deep breath and knocked on the door to Guy and Golderg's dorm room. He wasn't really good friends with Guy, but Goldberg /had/ seemed very concerned, and Adam felt that he should do his part. Even if Guy got angry and threw him out, it would take the young man's mind off of Connie for a while.   
  
"Come in," Guy called on the other side of the door.   
  
Adam did so. Guy was sitting crosslegged on his bed, and he looked up at his vistor listlessly. Adam shifted his weight from foot to foot and mumbled, "Um...hey. Feeling any better?"  
  
"No." Guy sighed heavily. "Sit down if you want."  
  
"Thanks," Adam said akwardly. They sat in silence for a while. Finally, Guy wondered aloud,   
  
"Am I making a mistake, breaking up with Connie?"  
  
"Do you have to ask me?" Adam replied.   
  
Anger flashed in Guy's eyes momentarily, but he only shrugged. "We agreed that it was best."  
  
"Maybe it is. But you don't have to sit around here, moping and scaring Goldberg."  
  
"Goldberg?" Guy repeated, confused. "What the hell does he have to do with this?"  
  
Adam rolled his eyes. "You really are dense, Germaine. He's your roommate, your teammate, and your friend since you were little. He thinks you're going to kill yourself over Connie."   
  
Guy stared at him. "You're lying." Adam denied this with an emphatic shake of his head. Guy looked disgusted. "Oh, that is so fucking /typical!/ You people think that I can't do a damn thing without Connie, don't you?!"  
  
"Guy, settle down." Adam implored, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture. Guy ignored this and got to his feet, looking angrier than Adam had ever seen him.   
  
"You think I can't even /live/ without Connie! You think...you think that I'm such a worthless shit that I'd /kill/ myself over...over some girl? Over anyone? You...you don't even /know/ me. You don't care. Fuck, Goldberg and the others probably had to make you come up here."  
  
"Nobody made me. I came on my own." Adam said calmly.   
  
This incensed Guy even further. "Oh, and what for? So you can make fun of me?"  
  
"No!" Adam cried. He had wanted to be patient, but Guy was obviously not in the mood for rational conversation. "Jesus, Guy, I'm not attacking you!"  
  
Guy sat down heavily, and hid his face in his hands. He pleaded in a muffled voice, "Leave me alone, Banks, just go away."  
  
"Fine," Adam said, getting up to go. He paused at the door, however, and though he didn't turn around he told Guy quietly, "Just because the two of you are changing doesn't mean that you're not meant for each other. Maybe you need to grow up, both of you, before you get back together."  
  
****  
  
By the time the call came to board the bus, everyone was tense. Apprehensive about facing Windsor, a team known for cheap shots and dirty tactics, on their home turf and walking on eggshells around Connie and Guy--seated at opposite ends of the bus--the Ducks were under strain.   
  
Dean in particular, having ended up sitting next to Guy in the very back, seemed nervous. He kept shifting around in his seat as if to give Guy more room, and Guy didn't even react at all. He was staring instead at Connie, seated next to Luis. Dean realized that here was bound to be trouble later on, given the way that Luis kept smiling at Connie.   
  
Some spoke up, "You're very jumpy."   
  
Dean looked at Kenny and said, "What, this? This isn't nothing. You should see me when I'm amped up!"  
  
"Gettin' ready to put the fear of God into the Windsor team?" Ken persisted, pointedly ignoring Guy's presence. He, for one, didn't understand the huge deal that everyone was making over this break-up. No one had seen fit to treat Charlie any differently when /he/ finally dropped that Linda girl, and never had Luis seemed to take the loss of one of his girlfriends so badly.   
  
"Yeah, bro, that's it." Dean replied softly.  
  
~~To Be Continued..~~ 


	16. Help Me

A/N: Okay, okay, okay! Now, first off, Julie gets the long-anticipated beating she deserves. And secondly, I'm leading off this chapter with a selection from a piece of my own poetry, and I'm a bit nervous about how it'll be recieved. It's not the whole poem, because the thing is too long. (Funny, it seems to fit more with SIDBIM and IWMYFB, donnit?)  
  
****  
  
"Might as Well, Part Sixteen"  
  
["I'm a loser, if this life is a game/ Too well-acquainted with loss and pain./ If I could save you, I'd do it in a heartbeat/ But I'm fallin' and I won't land on my feet.  
  
Someone...help me...  
  
I'm lost and I can't see, help me/ I'm hurting and I can't stop, help me/ I'm living and I can't die, help me/I'm dying and I can't live."  
  
--from "42103; Help Me" by D.L. SchizoAuthoress]  
  
For the second time in the space of a few months, the Mighty Ducks--feeling not-so-mighty at the moment--were facing down the board of school directors. A few of the alumni looked as though Christmas had come early; the smiles on their faces were very smug and self-satisfied. It seemed as though they would be getting what they had wanted earlier: to expel this rag-tag bunch of rink-rats from their prestigious halls of private education.   
  
Weeks of inquiry and investigation had revealed nothing, had done nothing but set the Ducks against them. Julie Gaffney talked, hatefully and without restraint, about how certain members of the junior varsity would corrupt the idyll of Eden Hall. And Julie was standing on the other side of the room, looking just as self-assured and pleased with herself as the alumni. Coach Orion stood with his Ducks, looking just as rebellious as the rest of them.   
  
"Ted Orion," the chairman of the board said formally, "it has come to the attentions of the Eden Hall administration that you have removed Julie Gaffney from the junior varsity roster. You are aware that by your actions, you have violated the terms of our...contract with this young lady?"  
  
"Sir, I gave the recommendation to the Varsity coach that Ms. Gaffney be considered for second-string Varsity goalie. If she was not taken onto the team, you should be questioning Coach Wilson. It was his decision." Coach Orion replied calmly.   
  
"It would seem," spoke up a woman on the board, "based on the information gathered, that Ms. Gaffney has moral issues needed to be taken under consideration." The woman unfolded a pair of thin reading glasses and picked up the paper which lay before her. After consulting it, she said quietly, "We are told that two players on the junior varsity are...open homosexuals?"  
  
Fulton answered, in a soft but clear voice, "Yes. That would be myself and Dean Portman."  
  
The woman nodded. "Ms. Gaffney objects to being in contact with you. She states that your presence on the team is detrimental to the moral standards of the school."  
  
"And I agree with her," another alumnus muttered.   
  
"Please make your point quickly, Mrs. Sherbistoff," requested the chairman, sensing controversy. Mrs. Sherbistoff nodded curtly.   
  
"Now, the course of action that my collegues would like to see taken is simple. Fulton Reed and Dean Portman would be expelled from Eden Hall--"  
  
"What for?" Charlie demanded. The other Ducks echoed the question, and Ted Orion, looking outraged, snapped,   
  
"You can't do that!"  
  
Mrs. Sherbistoff held up a hand for silence. "Please. If I may finish uninterrupted?" She cleared her throat and continued, "...expelled from Eden Hall for violence against other students, for which they were previously punished with Saturday detention, a punishment that they flouted by leaving the campus entirely. Expulsion automatically voids scholarships. Julie Gaffney would be reinstated as first-string JV goalie, upholding the conditions of her scholarship; which are to play hockey for Eden Hall and maintain a passing GPA."  
  
Adam spoke up suddenly. "You expel them, you expel all of us." Every eye in the room turned toward him. Adam looked very pale, but very determined. He said coldly, "We'll all find ways to get expelled if you go through with this. It's underhanded and wrong and manipulative. The only Duck you'll have is 'Ms. Gaffney'."  
  
"Yeah," Guy said, "and then we'll tell everyone what you did."  
  
"Your reputation as a school board and as individuals will be ruined." Connie added. She looked at Julie and smiled proudly. They had once been friends, but that didn't matter at the moment. All that mattered was standing up for their individual beliefs. The line had been drawn, and now they stood on opposite sides.  
  
One of the men on the board laughed suddenly. "Who would believe /you/?"  
  
"I will."  
  
The voice had come from the doorway. A strange woman stood there, leaning one arm against the doorframe and keeping back the enraged secretary who was softly and insistently telling her that she had to leave. Thick black hair tumbled helter-skelter around her sharp, angular face, and her hazel eyes were hard and cold as ice.   
  
"Who are you?" The chairman demanded. The woman smiled and revealed an ID badge hanging around her neck. She stepped forward, the heels of her black pumps clicking authoritatively on the hardwood floor, holding out the plastic card for them to see.  
  
"Phoebe de los Fuegos, reporter for the 'Minneapolis Star-Tribune'." She stopped short of the table and produced a steno pad and mechanical pencil. "I was alerted about these proceedings and smelled a story. Follow-up to the 'Minnesota Miracle' and the Goodwill Games, as it were. Instead," and here Phoebe paused to smile wider, flashing teeth reminiscent of fangs, "I find a chance to expose the crooked dealings of Eden Hall's Board of Directors."  
  
****  
  
"Oh. My. God." Averman breathed, heaving a sigh of relief as they left the office. "I would've dropped dead from the frickin' stress if all that macho posturing hadn't stopped." Ken shoved his shoulder playfully and laughed.   
  
"What the hell are you talking about, Averman?"  
  
Averman pushed Ken back and snapped, "Oh, and I suppose you suffer from temporary deafness? 'We're gonna expel the Bash Brothers because we can!' and 'We're gonna get ourselves expelled if you do, ha ha!' You're telling me that none of that shit /worried/ you?"  
  
"Nah," Ken grinned, stuck his hands in his pockets, and stated airily, "Got a whole pile of academic scholarship offers for places in California, just sittin' in my room back home."  
  
"Lucky you."   
  
****  
  
"Feebs, what the hell...?" was about the only coherent thing that got through the complicated pathway from Fulton's brain to his mouth. The twenty-year-old woman smirked insolently and he knew that she was refusing to answer him. Finally, he managed to ask, "What the hell are you doing here?"  
  
"I'm an intern at the Star-Tribune." Phoebe responded shortly. She motioned for Fulton and Dean to follow her outside. Once they had stepped onto the thick green lawn, she explained further, "They really sent me over here for an article on some honor-roll student contributing a shitload of time down at one of the local homeless shelter...a human interests piece or something. The guy had to reschedule, and so I was sitting outside the Dean's office waiting to use the phone..."  
  
"Let me guess, you heard Fulton's name mentioned and decided to come to his rescue," Dean said with a grin. Fulton punched him in the back. Hard.   
  
Phoebe stifled a laugh at their actions. "Kid, if I didn't know you would kill me for saying it, I might call the two a' you cute. As it is, let's settle for 'ya look good together,' all right?"  
  
"I love you, too, Feebs." Fulton deadpanned.   
  
The three of them continued to the gates, where Phoebe's ride would be waiting for her. Phoebe was often choking back giggles over something Dean did or said, but mostly because of what Fulton did in response to those things. The fact that Dean was her little brother's boyfriend needed no explaining; she took it at face value. And at face value, Fulton was the happiest that she had ever seen him get. There were no complaints voiced by her.   
  
This was not the case with the person who had been following them. Julie, bitter over her defeat at the hands of a bunch of 'queer lovers' and angry about her loss of face in front of the alumni, threw caution to the wind once she saw them nearing the gates and shouted, "Hey, you! Don't think that this is over yet! I'll get you unnatural freaks out of this school if it's the last thing I do!"  
  
Fulton, Dean, and Phoebe froze. Dean clenched his teeth and firmly reminded himself that she was a girl, a much smaller and more delicate human being than he was, and he had the unfair advantages of height, muscle, and fight experience on his side. 'If I hit her, I'll just be expelled and she'll get what she wants.'  
  
Fulton grabbed Phoebe's arm and tried to restrain her, but it was like trying to hold onto a wisp of tornado. She shook free from him and turned, slowly, deliberately, to face the teenage girl. There was innate menace in everything about her as she took a calculated single step forward.   
  
"Get my brother and his boyfriend kicked out, and I'll be kicking you all the way back to Maine, you ugly little hussy. [1] I don't mind losing a boot or two up your self-righteous ass."  
  
"You're all talk," Julie sneered, stomping toward the woman. She continued, "You'll slander me and talk trash, but you won't do a thing to me."  
  
"If you think that I'd waste newsprint and risk my job printing /libel/ about your sorry self, you got another think comin', young lady." Phoebe suddenly grabbed Julie by the front of her shirt and snarled, "I can back up every damn thing I say."  
  
She released the girl and shoved her back into one of the stone columns in the arch framing the main gateway. Julie shrieked in outrage at this rough treatment and flung herself at Phoebe. Neatly sidestepping the move, Phoebe hit Julie with a right cross in the side of the face.   
  
"Fulton, shouldn't we..." Dean began.  
  
Fulton cut him off. "Dude. Do you value your life and limbs?"  
  
"Naturally."  
  
"Then don't interfere when Feebs is kicking ass for your benefit."  
  
Julie had a handful of Phoebe's hair and was attempting to claw at the woman's eyes with her free hand. Phoebe laughed in her face and hissed, a credible imitation of cat. Then she punched Julie in the stomach so hard that Dean winced just watching it happen. As Julie doubled over, eyes watering from the pain, choking for breath, Phoebe tripped her.   
  
Turning to the boys, Phoebe softly said, "You're welcome." Fulton nodded. She looked down at Julie in disgust. "You're pitiful, you loud-mouthed bitch. I get word that you're still givin' people grief over what isn't any of your business, and you'll get more pain your way."  
  
She reached out and shook Dean's hand, murmuring, "Take care of my kid brother," and they all went their seperate ways.  
  
~~To be continued...~~  
  
[1] Fulton wrote home during the Goodwill Games, okay? That's how she knows that Julie's from Maine.  
  
A/N: One chapter left! Oh my goodness, it's almost over! 


	17. You Give Love a Bad Name

A/N: Oh, goodness! It's...all over. Before we start the final chapter, I'd just like to thank all my reviewers. Everyone who supported me and helped me along on this lovely little twisted path...this is for you. And I, SchizoAuthoress, offer up my services as beta reader, request-fic writer, collaborator, and ideasmith. Anything I can do for any of you, I'll do it. Because you've all done so much for me; you've made me feel loved and wanted and accepted in a way that no other fandom bothers to. Quack, quack, quack, Ducks fans!  
  
****  
  
"Might as Well, Part the Last"  
  
["Oh, there's nowhere to run/ No one can save me, the damage is done/   
  
Shot through the heart, and you're to blame/ You give love a bad name/ I play my part, you play your game/ You give love a bad name."  
  
--from "You Give Love a Bad Name" by Bon Jovi]  
  
"Mornin'..." Dean greeted Fulton as they passed each other in the hall, Fulton heading back to their dorm room, Dean shambling toward the bathrooms at the end of the hall.   
  
"Happy birthday," Fulton replied.   
  
Dean blinked. Either he was still half-asleep, or he had forgotten something. He turned around to ask Fulton what day it was, but the other Bash Brother had already retreated to their room. Dean shrugged. The shower was beckoning him.  
  
****  
  
Dean consulted the KISS calendar hanging above Fulton's desk. Yes, it was Tuesday April 2nd, his birthday. Fulton had boxed the day in red and written 'Dean's party, Sheraton, 6:30' inside it. Behind him, Fulton chuckled and teased,   
  
"That was supposed to be a reminder to /me/. I thought you'd remember your own birthday."  
  
"Well, it's been an exciting second semester." Dean smiled at his own understatement. "Kinda slipped my mind."   
  
He felt Fulton embracing him from behind and sighed with contentment. Fulton kissed the side of his neck and murmured, "Love you, baby." Dean buried his face in the soft sweep of Fulton's long black hair and breathed in the scent of Ivory soap. Fulton was probably the only person Dean knew of who never used shampoo and never would.   
  
"You're the best, honey. I love you, too."  
  
****  
  
Someone had spiked the punch.   
  
Fulton smiled wryly, recognizing the faint burn of alcohol as he sipped from his paper cup. /He/ hadn't done it, regardless of whatever other people might think, and he knew for a fact that Dean hadn't, because the birthday boy hadn't had a thing to do with the party at all.   
  
"Just show up at six-thirty and look sexy," Fulton had counseled him when Dean pressed for something to do. "But not too sexy. I don't want the Portmaniacs to stalk you to the Sheraton." The last comment had earned him a very pleasant kiss. Dean had promised to try very hard not to build up an entourage, and then Fulton left to see how the preparations for the party were going.  
  
Fulton self-consciously checked his reflection in the mirror hanging over the fake mantle as he passed it. He was wearing his nicest, non-ripped pair of jeans and a plain black shirt, long-sleeved. He'd even thrown his checkered Vans in the wash for the occasion, and while he realized that most of the guests would disapprove, he'd taken one of Dean's bandannas to wear. He sighed softly; he was white trash, he knew that, and he knew that it would always show. At least it was better than his old Smashing Pumpkins tee and the one pair of jeans with a rip up to the knee.  
  
And someone had already--pardon the pun--beaten him to the punch and spiked the fruity concoction. Fulton gave the flask in his coat pocket a single pat, pondering whether he should add its contents anyway. He had no idea as to the alcohol tolerance of his teammates, outside of Portman--and Tammy Duncan, but that was another story--so it might be dangerous to their health if he did so. Not to mention that the adults would be pissed.  
  
Fulton shrugged. Maybe later. He crushed the paper cup and tossed it in the garbage, wandering over to one of the tables and consulting the menu there. Phillip Banks had, after a surprisingly small amount of cajoling on Adam's part, shouldered most of the bill, but the food the team had chosen was simple. And they promised Dwayne that there would only be two knives, one spoon, and one fork at the place setting.  
  
The hotel workers were setting up the stereo and karaoke machine--it would be a cold day in Hell before Fulton used that abomination. The caterers were stationed in the kitchens. Fulton mentally went over the guest list again, checking who had RSVP'd. Because it was, after all, a school night, the Ducks circumvented possible refusal by inviting their parents along.   
  
Charlie and his mother. Goldberg and parents. The Moreau family--three older brothers, Connie, and parents. Guy, his older sister, and his dad, because his mom stayed at home to watch the younger children. The Halls. Like Charlie, Adam only had his mother coming; his father was out of town on business and his brother Danny was away at college. Ken, Luis, Russ, Averman, and Dwayne--without parents. Himself, sans foster parents. The Duncans and their dad. Peter Mark and his older brother. Dave Karp and his grandparents. Dean. And Coach Orion's family of three. Thirty-eight people.  
  
'Why did I let Connie and Adam talk me into this?' Fulton lamented, heading over to the punch bowl. Best to get rid of the evidence right now.  
  
****  
  
"You've been drinking," was the first thing out of Dean's mouth when he sat down at Fulton's table. "And you didn't wait for me."  
  
"Somebody spiked the punch. I got rid of it." Fulton shrugged and picked up his water glass, swirling the ice cubes in it. "'Sides, you can do the honors and spike the fresh batch they made up."  
  
"You deviate," Dean scolded him lovingly. "You stole my favorite bandanna, too."  
  
"Did not. I borrowed it."  
  
Dean smiled. "Well, it looks very good on you. Otherwise, I wouldn't let you wear it." Fulton huffed and tossed the menu at Dean. "Thanks, hon."  
  
He looked around the room. The other tables were larger, but they held more people. The Moreaus and the Germaines were sitting together, and neither Guy nor Connie were complaining about it. (In fact, they looked very pleased with the arrangement. If nothing else, they had a friendly break-up.) Mrs. Banks and Mrs. Conway-Walsh were chatting very animatedly at their table, and so were Adam and Charlie. Averman was sitting with the Goldbergs--most of the laughter was coming from that table. Russ and Kenny sat with the Halls, Luis was seated with the Marks, and the Karps were putting up with Dwayne. Coach Orion, his daughter, and his wife occupied their own table, as did the Duncans. No problems yet, but knowing the Ducks, if there wasn't trouble, they'd make it.  
  
****  
  
"This is happens at all the parties I go to. People always want me to leave," mourned Dwayne as he sat down in Fulton's seat. Dean raised an eyebrow.  
  
"What, and miss all your warmth and charm?" he asked dryly. Not only had Fulton abandoned him at a request by Tammy Duncan to dance, he had to put up with Dwayne's whining. Dwayne had tried to ask Connie to dance and was chased away by her older brothers. He'd been kicked off the dance floor once the older people started to cha-cha, and none of the conversations happening around the room wanted to include him.   
  
Fulton suddenly showed up and kissed Dean on the cheek. "Sorry, babe, but Tammy wouldn't let me go 'til now."  
  
Dean had never seen Dwayne move quite that fast without skates. At least he'd ditched Julie's company to come back to the team. Dean made a mental note to ask Luis just what he'd said to convince the Cowboy to do so.  
  
****  
  
After the dinner and dancing and cake and karaoke singing--Fulton was conspicuously absent from the last one, but Dean willingly belted out a rendition of Nirvana's "About a Girl," inarguably the best performance of all--there were presents. The original Ducks who hadn't gone on to the Goodwill Games--the Duncans, Karp, and Peter--gave him money and the invitation to come play a friendly game of hockey. With an air of slightly mocking ceremony, Charlie presented him with a Mickey Mouse alarm clock and warned him that he couldn't possibly do damage to such a wholesome cartoon icon without some kind of retribution. Dean, affecting a properly chastised air, accepted the clock and promised to be on time to the next practice.   
  
Jesse and Terry gave him an earring about half the size of an Altoid. "It's only crystal, so you won't get a lot for it if you pawn it," Terry informed him with a cheeky grin. Guy's present was an AC DC poster, and Connie's was 'Ballbreaker'. They swore up and down that they hadn't coordinated gifts, but everyone only smiled knowingly and let it slide. The Goldbergs gave him a coupon to a local music store.  
  
Adam's present was a set of 'The Lord of the Rings' trilogy. His only explanation was that Dean needed some good literature to occupy his time. Dean raised an eyebrow at that and glanced meaningfully at Fulton, who had the presence of mind to blush and hit him.  
  
Dwayne's gift was a cowboy hat. Kenny gave him a copy of 'Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure'. Metallica's Black Album came from Luis, and Russ gave him '2Pacalypse Now.' Coach Orion's gift was a nice blue jacket--sensible and not too expensive, as Fulton put it in an amused tone under his breath. Averman handed Dean his bandanna and said half-jokingly, "Use it well, grasshopper," and then placed twenty dollars on top of it.  
  
The last present that Dean opened was Fulton's. Dean lifted a pair of army surplus boots out of the box and exclaimed, "Something I really needed. New boots!"  
  
"With matching laces," Fulton added, grinning. Dean gave him a funny look.   
  
"What?"  
  
Fulton pointed to Dean's feet. "Your bootlaces are different colors. The one on the left is black, but the right one is navy blue."   
  
****  
  
By nine-thirty, everyone was leaving or had already left. However, Fulton refused an offer from Charlie's mom to drive them back to the dorms. Dean said quietly,   
  
"You realize that they're the last ones to go. What are we gonna do, ride the bus?"  
  
Fulton shook his head. "This is such a nice hotel, I thought we could...spend the night."  
  
"Are you suggesting what I think you are?"  
  
"Well," Fulton said in a would-be innocent voice, "I /do/ have a reservation that it would be a shame to waste..." He smiled slightly, "And you haven't gotten your present yet."  
  
"Yes, I did," Dean replied.  
  
Fulton laughed and kissed him. "No, no. Your /other/ present. The one I have to give you in /private/," he explained, leading Dean toward the elevators.  
  
"Oh. That one. I'm gonna like that one..."  
  
****  
  
The next morning, they took a cab back to Eden Hall. Fulton snuggled against Dean in the back seat and sighed, "I love you, Dean." In response, Dean tightened his arm around Fulton's shoulders and dropped a warm, possessive kiss on his temple.   
  
"Love you, too, honey." He whispered in Fulton's ear. "Thank you."  
  
"You've said that. You've said that a lot." Fulton smiled. Dean said simply,   
  
"That's because I'm very, very grateful."  
  
****  
  
The letter had come earlier that morning, and was handed to Fulton as they passed the dorm supervisor's desk in the recieving area. Fulton tucked it into his back pocket without a glance at it. But when they got up to their room, he gasped as he read the return address.   
  
"What?" Dean demanded, "What's wrong?"  
  
"It's a letter from my mom," Fulton choked out, looking up at Dean with disbelief in his dark eyes. "She's never, never written to me before. And she's in Louisiana with my Uncle Bobby."   
  
"Read it!" Dean cried, but Fulton was already ripping open the envelope as he said this. Scanning the letter quickly, Fulton sat down heavily as he finished it.   
  
"My mom ran away from a treatment center in St. Paul and she's staying at Uncle Bobby's house. They're trying to talk her into going in for detox again....he wants me to come stay with her."  
  
~~End Might as Well~~  
  
To be continued in the sequel: "Combat Boots and Clover" 


End file.
